Acta Non Verba
by PineappleRuffles
Summary: 3.25: Propinquity: She was surrounded by mother hens. Three of them. One of them wasn't even female. How did that even happen?
1. Bough

A/N: Aloha! So, I am writing a longer story but I'm not really happy with it right now. So I figured maybe I could post a few oneshots - but I need an excuse to post a healthy amount of them in one place. Thus, Word of the Day; though I may well do it wrong, since if I finish one site's word and still want to write...I am definitely going to find another's! Haha. Also, I'll take word prompts, if anybody has interesting words they want to see done. I like a challenge! And I'd like to see some community participation in something...I like a healthy community! So feel absolutely free to offer critique on my characterization or anything you deem needing of it. This is unbeta'd, so it may not be perfect. Warnings: Non-linear plot, not even all in the same universe. May contain character death, angst, tooth-aching fluff, foul language, maybe even triggery material. Will warn individually!

Disclaimer: I don't own this! Just the story and any OCs, but even then, I'm a share and share alike kinda girl.

Bough

1.

A branch of a tree, especially one of the larger or main branches.

"You brought me a Christmas tree."

Auggie tried his damndest to stare at Annie, incredulous, bemused, confused - all and more. It smelled strongly of resin and all of his childhood Christmases, and the boughs were just as prickly and sticky as he remembered. He smiled without really meaning to, reaching out to the top of it and snorting. It wasn't even five feet tall. "A baby Christmas tree!" It was cute, how she sometimes just kind of forgot that he was blind, but really. Blue spruce needles all over his poor apartment and all he really got out of it was the smell? He was pretty sure the smell came in a can.

All the same, he could practically feel Annie's pride radiating as she also touched the tree, sending all of the branches a-tremble. "Well, yeah," Nonchalant, like that was the absolute most normal thing in the world. That was Annie. "It looked lonely! I got one a little bigger, but this one was beside it, all pitiful and unloved and...well, I know you can't see it, Aug, but that doesn't mean you can't have Christmas spirit." She laughed, for the first time in a few months carefree - and was he going to deny that? No way. So he grinned, accepting the inevitable battles with the broom and dustpan in favor of keeping his friend laughing. If she wanted him to have a tree, he'd have a tree. Anyways, it did smell kind of nice, and the thought was good.

After a moment, there was another rustle, and the thump of a...box?...being set down on the floor. "I brought ornaments." Of course she had. "And..." There was a hesitant pause, and he tilted his head, frowning. That hesitance; it was recent, but he wasn't sure at all where it came from. Was she still feeling off-kilter about Stockholm?

"The girls, Dani and I made some ornaments last week. I brought some of them. We, uh. We made a lot." The frown vanished, replaced by a wide grin as he straightened, chest puffing. He couldn't help it; and the temptation to tease her was overwhelming. He really tried not to. Really! Still - "Aw, Walker, you do love me." He snickered, swinging out a hip for a light hipcheck before bending to reach for the box. In what he was pretty sure was a plastic grocery bag on top, the distinctive grit of glitter seemed prominent over the ornaments within; he brandished it at Annie, grinning still. "Glitter? You want me to look manly at work, don't you? Sure, take advantage of the blind guy who can't see it when it gets all over him. I get it."

She didn't respond for a long moment, and there it was again; briefly, he considered asking her what was going on in her mind. Annie was a big girl, though, and if she wanted to talk, she would, right? Surely. Deciding that last week's debacle in Quito was still sticking with her, he ramped up his resolve for shenanigans. Auggie Anderson was the king of making somebody feel better. "High opinion of yourself, there, Auggie." False bravado and he knew it - but he grinned all the same, waggling his eyebrows in her general direction. "You know it." He laughed. She laughed. In short order, while he had gone to put on a Christmas CD (Bing Crosby's classics, of course), she had wrestled the tree over to an uninhabited corner and gotten it set up in the pan of water and stand. That took skill, which he also teased her about; because really, it was too much not to.

They spent the whole CD, twice repeated, decorating the twiggy little tree. By the second repetition, the lights had been untangled from a box deep in his closet and applied haphazardly, and the skirt laid down while they both sang loudly and - in Annie's case, because he was sure, despite some Holiday Cheer slash spiked cider, that he was perfectly pitched - off-key. They sang loudly enough that it didn't really matter, though, because even if they had been on-key it would have sounded awful.

Finally, the ornaments came out. First a few boxes of what he was pretty sure were new ones; glass balls of various sizes and colors. Annie explained the colors as they went, fastidiously trying not to place too many in one area. Just because he couldn't see didn't mean that he wanted whatever tree he had to look stupid. Everything he owned was good. A few strands of tinsel and a few other random ornaments and they finally cracked open the bag of glitter-covered ornaments. Despite his teasing, the gesture was actually...touching. Not that he would ever admit to the fact that it warmed him in a way that even the heavily-spiked cider hadn't.

"Rudolph?" He guessed the first, running fingers down the long legs and laughing at the glitter-feel of the thing's nose. "Rudolph's always gonna be made fun of with glitter for a nose." She laughed, punching his arm, and he huffed in mock outrage. "Hey! I colored that one, I'll have you know. He is the picture of perfection."

Yeah, that was totally the 'I'm lying right through my teeth' voice. Was she giving him a bag full of creepy-looking ornaments that anybody who showed up at his house would make fun of? Or be afraid of? ...actually, he didn't really care. The idea that they had thought of him while making ornaments was making teasing her about them all the more necessary before he started bawling into his mug or something ridiculous. "He's purple, isn't he? I have a defective Rudolph. The horror!" Cuing up a dramatic hand-flail to his face, he covered his eyes.

The rest of the bag went much the same. Katia had forged his name in Christmassy pipecleaners and puffballs, which apparently were made to look like snowmen. Chloe had created an angel for the top of the tree out of the same pipecleaners and what he was pretty sure was at least half a pound of glitter. Annie assured him that it was glorious, and he believed her. There were crafts in yarn and cookie dough, and somehow, he felt...oddly wistful about missing out on whatever had brought what turned out to be an insane amount of ornaments into being. They must have been at it for hours. Sure, he wouldn't have been any good, and it wasn't something that he even thought that he wanted to do - well, maybe that was the fact that it was getting late and the Christmas Cheer was setting in. Nonetheless, when he finally hung the last glittery creation near the top of the tree and flopped back down on the pillows that had migrated onto the floor, they both laughed delightedly.

"It's horrible, isn't it." With mock surety, he reached out to play with one of the lower boughs, grinning at the texture. Annie laughed, lazily reaching over to kick his leg with a bare foot. "Oh, stuff it. It looks awesome." She sighed, sounding perfectly happy, and he smirked. Yep. He was awesome. If this was all it took to take her mind off of whatever it was that was bothering her these days, he'd decorate a new one every day.

After a moment's silence, she went on to describe the tree. It was a blue spruce, so it was grey-green, and they hadn't sprayed it with anything trying to keep the needles on so it wasn't shiny. The lights were his, and he remembered their colors clearly, warm reds and golds and bright blues and greens and oranges. Apparently she'd set them to slow-fade. They had managed to get the gold and red and silver glass balls perfectly aligned, according to Annie. The tinsel was silver and spiralled around the tree. Annie's handmade ornaments were scattered over it, and he could almost picture every one of them; at least, he remembered their placements. He could picture it, clearly, in his mind. There had been many trees, after all, before he'd been blinded. This was the first one he'd bothered with since he'd been blinded. He could visualize every bauble and every light like it had just been last year, though.

During her commentary, they had both shifted. He'd graciously given her two of the three pillows, and had sprawled onto the last, perfectly content in semi-hazy accomplishment on the floor. Apparently, though, it had been longer than he'd thought since she finished talking. Slow, even breathing could be discerned over O Holy Night, and he huffed. She had totally passed out on him! He was not going to let Walker live that one down. Actually, though, with his head propped up on his hand and the pillow there, he felt kind of...woozy. Maybe she had the better idea, after all.

Auggie grinned. Yeah. He wasn't going to let that one go. Annie Walker couldn't hold her spiked cider! Annie Walker was passed out by his tree. Heh.

The rest of what would probably have been an awesome thought had to wait, though, since Auggie Anderson wasn't nearly as resistant to the forces of good and sleep as he thought he was. When Bing switched to White Christmas, Auggie was already asleep. And snoring.


	2. Surreptitious

A/N: Okay, so I couldn't help it. This follows "Bough". I promise the next will be totally random. ;) The Annie-character in my head wanted her side heard, though. Still to come sometime soon: Joan's POV, and Danielle's, too.

Disclaimer: Still not mine!

. . . . . . . . .

Surreptitious

1. marked by quiet, caution and secrecy

2. taking pains to avoid being observed; conducted with or marked by hidden aims or methods

. . . . . . . . .

Something was...twinkling. Slowly. In-time with her breathing, the light beyond her eyelids was rising and falling, and vaguely, Annie considered that that wasn't normal. Her head felt like it was full of cotton, though, and she thought that it might not be the best idea in the whole world to open her eyes. Or move. Or, come to think of it, consider any of the above. Never mind that her bed was not really comfortable, today. She stilled, willing herself to go back to sleep - it was still dark enough around the edges that it had to be night. The problem of flashing lights and apparently nonfunctional curtains could be dealt with whenever she woke up.

Somehow, she did manage to go back to sleep, too. Far less quiet a worry than flashing lights, her bladder awoke her next. Struggling one gummed-up eye open, she blinked blearily, and froze. Honestly, she had absolutely no memory of why she was currently curled up with one arm around a pan of water and the other hand fisted in red velvet. Oh, this was probably not going to be good. In the urgent-but-hazy space between sleep and true awakeness, she groaned, doing her best to squirm out from beneath what she was pretty sure was a Christmas tree without knocking anything over. Ornaments tinkled and rattled ominously, but miraculously, they all stayed in place on the tree. Fuzzy details replayed lazily in the back of her mind as she stood and made a beeline for Auggie's room and the bathroom.

Auggie's room and the bathroom. Oh boy. That was just an entire barrel of poisonous night-crawlers or some other radioactive worms that she didn't even want to get into. Not even a little tiny bit. Still. Nature called, and would not be denied, so she tried to ignore the wariness at the fact that she hadn't seen the apartment's owner, and did her business. Feeling immensely better, she stumbled back into the room and then the common space, squinting about with slowly-blinking eyes. Nope. No Auggie. Awesome. She'd awoken alone in his apartment. It wasn't the first time she hadn't headed out after an evening of gaming or movie-ing or drinking which made driving stupid and cabs were just expensive, but she was pretty sure it was the first time Aug hadn't kicked her out to go to work at, like, five. Was it even a work day? What had they been drinking? For pissakes, she almost never drank enough to manage this one.

Feeling thankful that, at least, she didn't have a horrible headache, she wobbled towards the coffee pot. Her whole body felt stiff and unhappy, every muscle tight and in knots from apparently passing out cold on the floor. The soles of her feet felt like hot pokers had been set to them, and with every step her leg muscles pulled uncomfortably. Was she really getting that old? Because seriously, this was silly. She could distinctly remember sleeping on beaches not that long ago and being perfectly comfortable when she woke up. It was making the half-formed plan of slipping out surreptitiously not too likely.

Maybe it'd been the half-bottle of spiced rum that had gone into their hot cider last night. It had seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time. Apparently not so much. Passing a hand over her eyes halfway to the kitchen, she paused to collect the tattered shards of her dignity. Yeah, this was so not turning out right. It wasn't even all that comforting that this was the first time she'd passed out here in a few months. That just made her sad in a vague kind of way. Staving off the warring weary unhappiness and dawning amusement at her predicament with coffee, she set back to the task of trying to move with new determination.

Two-thirds of the way there, her nose kicked in, and Annie might have kissed Aug had he been here. Fresh-brewed-coffee smell wafted enticingly from the machine, drawing her across the room like a soothing balm to the soul. There was even a mug set next to the pot with some sort of molecular item on its' side. Not really caring what might have been contained within the white porcelain previously, she filled it nearly to the brim with black gold and graciously dumped in the remnants of a dish of cream that had been left out. A little sugar, stirred, and she relocated to one of the barstools along the island to stare at the cup until it cooled enough for her to drink. One hand on each side of her temples, she stared tiredly at the mug, willing it to fulfill its' destiny quickly.

She was easily most of the way to asleep, still focused on the steaming mug in her pursuit of caffeine, when the front door slid open. " - If you'll check off my Christmas list, buh-boom-pa-boom~" Off-key singing preceded her coffee-maker, and she watched with tired bemusement as he sashayed into his living room with what looked like a bag full of something foodlike. Her stomach gave a plaintive gurgle. "Mmm hmm mmm I want a yacht and really that's not a lot..." He hip-bumped the door back along its' track and into place, still singing an overdone version of what she was pretty sure was Eartha Kitt's version of Santa Baby. Figured. "So hurry down the chimney toniiighh - Annie?" The non sequitor may or may not have caught her off-guard and possibly in the midst of watching him dance around like an idiot in his way-too-thick-for-the-weather coat and sweatpants that hung low on his hips. She really didn't need to be doing that. It was right there, though, and she wasn't anywhere close to coherent.

So she took a giant gulp of her still-way-too-hot coffee; and sputtered in pain for a moment. Auggie made his way over to his kitchen, brows furrowed now. "Woah, what - oh come on, Walker, you're how old now? Thirty? You ought to know how to drink coffee by now." Apparently in setting the bag down, he'd discovered that the coffee cup was missing, since now he was shooting the exasperated look in her direction. She grunted in a fashion that she was pretty sure sounded just as impolite and uncomplimentary as she meant it to.

The exasperated look turned to amusement, then, at least. "Uhuh. Well, I brought food. Bagel shop down the road has a Saturday special, and since you seemed pretty happy spooning my Christmas tree, I went to get it myself. Do you always sleep the day away on your weekends?" She squinted vaguely at her shaggy-haired friend, wearily considering the response that would take the least amount of words. The least amount of effort, actually, in general.

"Yep." Was what she settled on, wrinkling her nose when her poor abused throat let her know how disappointed it was in her for trying to scald it. Ow. Wait - "Spooning your tree? Aug, something you wanna tell me?" He may have missed her raised eyebrow, but he probably couldn't miss her tone. Maybe. Even if she did sound a little like she'd been gargling nails. Ugh; maybe he had some sort of medication that would make her head feel a little less like the nail gargling thing.

Mid-extraction of something that smelled heavenly, Aug snorted, tossing a look in her direction. It was a very Auggie look, and she was pretty sure that first-day-on-the-job Annie might have dived for cover. Hungover and caffeine deficient Annie met it with a snort of her own. "What? Feeling me up while I'm sleeping? Totally creepy." She shot back, and he laughed. "Actually, you had one of my feet. Don't ask me how or why, Walker, that's on you." He grinned impishly and slid the wax paper wrapped package down the counter. "Bacon egg and tomato bagel with extra bacon. Thought you might need something greasy to sop up whatever's left in our systems. Pretty sure the Captain should have stayed in his bottle and left the Christmas Cheer to singing along with the songs or something. I feel like I swallowed a whole cat while I was sleeping." Perfectly cheerful in spite of something that actually sounded horrible, he wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue childishly.

Annie tried to make a sympathetic noise, honest she did. It was slightly hard to focus on anything but stuffing her face and, in short order, drinking her coffee since it was at a nearly-sane temperature to do so. The combination of coffee and greasy-yummy bagel was enough to nearly send her to vapors, and apparently Aug felt much the same way, since they ate in near total silence. Only when she had eaten every single bite of that bagel and had chugged the whole mug of coffee did she finally sigh happily and slump to rest her face on the counter. "Thanks, Auggie." May have been muffled by the counter, but it was entirely genuine in spite of that. He grinned and slumped forward himself, resting his cheek on a palm and focusing one of those looks that she loved and hated in her general direction.

"Naw. That's just bagels. You're the one that made me mutant Rudolphs and brought me a gimpy tree to go with my gimpy-self." The words might have been teasing, but his tone was sleepily contented, and she had to laugh. He looked like he was going to fall asleep on the island. Not again. That was an unhealthy habit. Auggie was - well, honestly, she wasn't sure at all what had gone down in Eritrea, months ago, but he was off-limits either way.

Which meant that passing out on the floor with him was more off-limits than crashing on his couch. It just was. Never mind the whole 'logic' thing. "Dani and I have always done Christmas." She shared, smiled. It was, mostly, a happy memory for them. They had almost always gotten along while doing their Christmas decorating, at least. Auggie grinned sidelong at her. "Yeah, well, you should have seen an Anderson Christmas, Annie. Mom always forced us all to help decorate the tree. None of my brothers thought it was funny. I thought their not-thinking was hilarious."

He snickered into an arm, and she snickered with him. Five boys...no, she didn't even want to begin to contemplate that. She had been just fine, with one sister. Danielle had always been all she had needed in siblings, no matter how rocky their relationship had been as teenagers. "I bet that was crazy." She agreed, curious in spite of herself. "So you were totally the baby. Were you a mama's boy?"

This time, any smile he might have heard was totally there; she smirked broadly at his immediate indignant huff. He puffed up like a twelve-year-old, eyes narrowing huffily in her direction as he glared lazily. "Oh, you're one to talk. I bet you were." Aug laughed, and she rolled her eyes. She wasn't even going to go there.

Anyways, she had a better plan - which included doing some shopping at some point today, since there were only a few weeks left before Christmas. Currently, though, the plan stretched only so far as Auggie's coffee pot and maybe the couch. Never mind anything else, she wasn't nearly awake enough to be driving, and anyways she was pretty sure that TCM was running an It's a Wonderful Life marathon today. Maybe they could polish off the pot of coffee and watch that before she had to return to the rest of life and be responsible. It felt pretty great to, for once, not have to do anything or be in immediate danger of dismemberment or prison sentences. Not that she thought either of those would transpire; no matter what else was going on, Auggie wouldn't let that happen.

"Whatever, Aug. Want coffee? I don't really care what you're doing, but I'm going to steal your couch and watch It's a Wonderful Life until I wake up since it's your fault I feel like I got mauled by a jet engine." Logic: her favorite. Her logic was totally sound, and her favorite handler looked like he was tempted to agree with her, squinting lazily sidelong at her. "Yeah, coffee." He agreed with amusement. "That sounds good."

Now, if only she could get her undercaffeinated self up and get the coffee that might help her feel like doing so. Oh, circular reasoning. It was too early for that.

One step at a time.


	3. Perdition

A/N: Question: Is it typical to respond to every review here? I started to do that when I realized that all responses get sent to your email and inbox instead of done forum-style. Two emails for one variant of "Thank you! I am so happy you liked the chapter" plus or minus a sentence or two for most of the equally-sized reviews seems kind of...excessive. I don't mind replying, I always have, but I'm just wondering if it's normal.

I WOULD like to say, either way, that all of the story alerts and everything as well as the reviews ABSOLUTELY make my day. I don't really mind if people reply - though I swear, they make me so happy that it's a little sad - or not, but truly, it makes me a little bit googly-eyed to see the response to this so far. You guys are awesome! Anyways, this is less fluffy than the first two. Woo!

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Woe, woe is me!

. . . . . . . .

Perdition

1**:** eternal damnation

2 **:** hell

. . . . . . . .

_Dear Sophia,_

_You'd think that the President had been bombed with all of the traffic in DC right now. I wish you were here to see it! How is Seoul? I hear that it's hotter than the surface of the sun right now._

_Keep in touch!_

_Affectionately,_

_Lisette_

Thunking her head dramatically to her desk for possibly the tenth time in an hour, Annie heaved a massive sigh, closing her arms over her head and hoping in an overdramatic kind of way that she might smother herself. It was totally not uncalled-for, because seriously, that was the _sixty-eighth_ boring email that she had translated in the last two hours, and if Joan sent her any more of these, she was going to consider mutiny. Well, treason. They weren't floating and she was pretty sure Joan could take her down if she tried to directly assault her boss. Annie didn't have all that many issues with thinking she was more awesome than she was - at least, when it came to her boss.

She respected Joan. She trusted Joan. She even liked Joan.

But if she had to translate one more email from a bored, boring Russian living in DC she was going to go out in a blaze of glory trying to drive a stapler through her boss's eye.

This was punishment. It had to be. She had discharged a weapon that wasn't even her own; killed a man in Sweden and almost caused an international incident in the process. She had cost herself and Joan both a lot of paperwork, not to mention Auggie - not that he'd know. He was in Africa. She didn't even really want to think about that, though. The confusion between amazement at the gift of his car and weary unhappiness at his dismissal was probably going to drive her insane before he got back, whenever that was.

It wasn't like she was doing interesting things, either. She had taken the mandatory week off and mostly...well, mostly she didn't remember the last week except waking up yesterday surrounded by bottles of cheap tequila and six half-gallons of a colorful assortment of ice creams. It was overdramatic and probably stupid, but hey, she _had_ felt a little more sane and rational (not to mention clean, after an hour-long shower that had left her skin heated for an hour afterward and still a little sore now). She had felt that way, before she realized that Joan had no intention of letting her do anything useful ever again. She was grounded. Desk duty. Chained to it, or she might as well have been.

Just as her pity party ramped itself up, she was distracted by whispers over by tech ops, her name the first thing that stood out to her and distracted her from the party. They probably thought they were being quiet, too. She scowled.

"You do it!" One hissed. "No way, man. You've been here longer." Another; this one not-so-familiar, unsurprisingly. There was a pause. "Rock-paper-scissors." The first - Stu? - whispered. They argued back and forth for a few more seconds, and Annie's ire grew tremendously. Fortunately, before she had time to work up enough energy to berate one of them or put the stapler to work on them, footsteps clopped across the bullpen. Paused.

When they'd stayed paused for longer than was normal, she eventually worked up enough of a care to lift her head up to see what the hold-up was. Arthur Campbell's curious blue eyes met hers, and she blinked slowly, feeling a little like a mouse in front of a lion. The feeling was shaken quickly, though; while she didn't underestimate Arthur, and she didn't entirely trust him, he didn't scare her. Too much. "Sir?" With as much innocence as she could muster, she straightened, trying to look for all the world like she had been searching for something on her desk. One of her boss's boss's gloriously rampant eyebrows drifted upwards sharply, and he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head briefly. "I thought that I would stop in to see how you are on your first day back. Clearly, you're doing well." His smirk grew as he spoke. Annie considered that he looked a little bit like a little boy who thought he could get away with anything.

Which was, in large part, why she straightened even further and returned his smirk. No sense letting him think he had the jump on her. "Of course I am." She forced a bubbling tone and a grin, tossing her hair - mussed from her arms over her head - over her shoulder and glancing back at the computer. "Keeping the country safe, one letter to a friend at a time, sir." It was almost tempting to toss in a mock-salute, but, probably best not to push her luck. She _had_ just gotten back from 'vacation' after causing everybody a lot of hassle, after all.

Arthur laughed, still grinning boyishly, then waggled his eyebrows a little. "You do your country a great service, Agent Walker. Now, tell me, where can I find my wife. She's not in her office." ...like she was supposed to know? Was she Joan's keeper? Had Joan tried to tell her? Panic!

"She went to lunch." Stu slid into the conversation evenly, favoring Arthur with a polite smile. "Sir. She asked me to inform you that she would, ah, be eating and running because she has to conference with the Director of Polish -" The DCS waved one well-manicured hand and nodded, expression businesslike again. Stu somehow managed not to sweat, though Annie knew for a fact that both Campbells intimidated him. She wasn't entirely sure why. When he wasn't whispering about her behind her back, he was a good agent. Nonetheless, he held his ground as Arthur glanced thoughtfully towards her office. "Hmm. Alright. You're filling in for Anderson, right? Come with me."

With that, they both wandered off. Stu cast a 'you owe me!' look over his shoulder and she tried to grin thankfully at him. Actually, she was thankful - she was pretty sure she would have been busted if he hadn't stepped in. Maybe Joan had been right in making her take time off. Maybe she wasn't up for coming back to work yet.

Resolving to work harder, she stood, stretching stiff muscles. Coffee. She needed coffee. That would help her to focus on the busy work that had suddenly become maddening where it had mostly just always been boring. Usually she would get a coffee for her and a coffee for Aug, and he would somehow manage to make her _want_ to do the busywork. She had no idea how he managed to keep her focused, but she could damn well focus without him. She could, and would, and never mind anybody who said she needed anybody else's presence to be productive. She was Annie Walker, translator extraordinaire. Annie Walker, Jedi of Good and Reader of Foreign Languages. Annie Walker, CIA.

The pep talk lasted all the way down to the in-house Starbucks. She even smiled at the barista, chatting aimlessly with her until her coffee was handed to her. Paying, she turned to grab a snack of some sort. After her week-long icecream binge, she didn't really feel like eating anything sweet, but...most food just didn't appeal to her. Meat smelled too - bloody - and vegetables were too cold, unpalatable. Bread was okay, but one couldn't really survive on bread alone. Eventually settling on a cup of mac 'n cheese from one of the smiling cafeteria workers, she sat down at one of the tables to quickly eat that so the coffee wouldn't upset her stomach.

Coffee was okay. Coffee would always be okay, no matter what sudden phobias about eating she'd developed and was hoping would disappear given a few more weeks. The mac 'n cheese was actually surprisingly good, but before she could go back for seconds, it had already soured in her stomach.

That wasn't the food's fault, though. That was the memory of the texture of the assassin's chest above the entry wounds; somewhere between hamburger and wet farfalle. It wasn't grainy like hamburger, but it sure had looked like it, and Annie...well, let's just say she wasn't going to be eating a burger any time soon. She shuddered, honestly, just thinking about it. She had only been meaning to have entire certainty that the guy was dead - not leave her with nightmares about zombies and an allergy to all things food. Taking a deep breath to calm the rampant thudding in her chest, since her heart seemed to be trying to escape through between her ribs, she stood and exited the cafeteria swiftly, clutching her coffee. The macaroni danced a little jig in her stomach as she swiftly fled the cafeteria, making a beeline for the bathroom. It had gone from discomfort to red-flag emergency in the span of a few seconds, but she was used to that.

After spending a few minutes worshiping the porcelain God, she wobbled over to the sinks, leaning over one with elbows on either side and groaning. Her hair looked horrible, but honestly, she really just didn't care about that OR the fact that her mascara was making tracks down her cheeks. Swiftly tying her hair back in a messy bun, she toweled off as much of her makeup as she could, then rinsed out her mouth a few times and grabbed her coffee from on top of the towel holder. After a few rounds of self-affirming nodding at her reflection, she strode out calmly, head held high.

This would usually be about the time that Auggie found her, miraculously. He'd appear, as if out of thin air, and determine that she had been heaving up her guts and probably that she hadn't actually been eating much at all. He would probably already have saltines on him and a pep-talk ready to go. Bereft of that presence, she steeled herself like she always had before August Anderson and gritted it out. If she was damned to perdition, she was going to do it in style. Ignoring the funny looks of the male agents and the curious gaze of the females, she strode confidently right back into the cafeteria and stole most of the saltines from the salad bar. Then she absconded with them, marching back to her desk.

Annie Walker didn't need anybody. She could take care of herself. Could and would. And when Joan came back from her lunch and her meeting, she would find her Best Damn Agent (not rookie, no) hard at work, not whining. Because Annie Walker, CIA Agent Extraordinaire might not be able to stomach mac 'n cheese without heaving up her guts but she could damn well do her job. Could, would, did.

Even if that job drove her completely and totally over the edge into madness by the end of the day.


	4. Gambol

A/N: Helllooo, month and a half of no updates! I have a reasonable excuse, promise. Been one of those months. And now! I keep getting in my happy writing place, you know? Except the happy writing place feels a lot like the happy sleeping place, and when I'm already IN bed, I just pass out instead of write, about four sentences into whatever I'm writing. Which is really frustrating when you really like your Word. ;P Oh well. Today's is one of my favorite descriptive words, and honestly, my brain goes immediately to...here. So. (Okay, I wrote this A/N days ago and this is no longer today's Word, but seriously, I'm tired of restarting when I run out of time!)

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Nobody got me it for Christmas. Sad.

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Gambol

: to skip about in play : frisk, frolic

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Arms hooked over the fence, Annie glanced sidelong at Danielle, smirking a little. Her older sister looked absolutely terrified. It wasn't often that Dani looked like she was going to aneurysm and explode, and - okay, really, Annie couldn't blame her too much.

Katia and Chloe were two of five kids in the big square enclosure; riding on the big horses for the first time. One of the kids had already cried twice, one was clinging to her horse's neck - and her nieces were both in the middle, looking awesome as far as she was concerned. At least, neither of them had cried. Chloe looked a little wide-eyed, and Katia wasn't really paying enough attention to the others, but the lady standing in the center of it all with the long stick wasn't yelling at either of them.

"Don't you think Chloe's horse looks mean? He keeps putting his ears back." Dani fretted. "He's too hot. He shouldn't be -" The taller woman had been going on like that for most of the hour that they had been here, so far; like she knew all that much about horses. Sure, there had been the year or so that Danielle had dragged her with her every time she went to the barn...but horses were big. And messy. They smelled nice, and were sweet, but really; she hadn't ever had enough time to really appreciate it. As far as she could tell, the big spotted one on which her smiling niece rode looked friendly enough. He was relaxed, and wasn't trying to go as fast as Katia's, at least. She didn't point that out to her sister, though. Really, she wasn't insane. Quite.

Instead, she sighed, flopping a hand over to pat her panicking sibling's shoulder. "C'mon, Dani, seriously. He's the nicest one in the group. See how he keeps looking back around for more of those peppermints she brought? They're getting along fine." She soothed, and smiled a little when it seemed to work.

The rest of the class went much the same as the first part, with the kids doing unending circles and working on voodoo moves that Annie couldn't even begin to understand. Why would they want their horse's shoulders in? Hollow back, really? What did that even mean? The girls seemed to understand, at least, and they were doing better than a couple of the other kids. Annie smirked. Eventually, though, the class dispersed and the trainer led them all back into the barn to oversee the removing of the saddles and other equipment that they'd been dressed in. Danielle followed the group fretfully, but Annie hung back - she'd seen an even more interesting area in their prior tour, and now she eagerly paced across the crushed-gravel path and down a ways away from the main barn-area.

Her destination was easily reached: a field right next to the sandy one in which the girls had been riding. It only had a few horses in it, but next to several of those horses the ultimate in cuteness - foals! She knew they were called foals, and she knew that they were cute. Boy, were they. The adult horses grazed peacefully on the brown grass of a late Virginia winter, while the young ones gamboled around their heels. There were only two or three running around, but the rest of the adult horses were insanely fat - so she assumed they were pregnant, and due within...the next five minutes, if she had anything to say. Then, she wasn't exactly an expert in horses.

One was kind of a gold-y brown color, and the other was dark brown with lots of white. They chased each other back and forth between two trees, tiny little hooves thumping on the just-barely-dry ground. It had been raining for days, but up here the soil drained well. She knew that, at least. It made her feel a little bit less out-of-her-element; not that watching a few baby animals didn't do that pretty well in the first place. Absently picking at a loose fleck of paint on the wooden fence, she leaned against it, humming happily to herself.

It had taken - weeks - to get back to this. This easy contentment with life in general that came with a warm day and some much-needed time with her family. Almost a month, in fact, since she'd gotten back from Stockholm a changed person. Finally, she could look Katia and Chloe in the eyes without feeling tainted. Finally, she could accept that she had done the best that she could, and she'd made the right choice. The scent of gunpowder, when she went to the range, didn't sicken her much. Passing men with blond hair didn't make her shiver. She did still have nightmares, but they were the usual - 'what if'. Never mind that she'd always hated 'what if' with a fiery passion, her subconscious was great at it.

A shout dragged her from her musings, and she glanced over her shoulder, smiling at the reason for it; Katia had sprayed Chloe with the wash-hose. They were the only two girls who'd stayed to wash their own horses - though she didn't know much about them, she knew that that was a good thing. At least the horses looked happy to be being bathed, even if their washers were a little distracted. Nobody was yelling, anyways.

Sensing more time in the offing, she turned again to lean on the fence once more, watching the horses. The foals had ceased playing to stand next to their mothers, thin sides taking in great breaths as they rested. Planting her chin on her folded arms, she inhaled, herself, taking in the smell of damp grass and the shiny grey horse a few feet down the fenceline. It was better than stale office air, anyways, and definitely better than her room currently - seriously, how could one incident with an iron and saran wrap smell so awful? - so she took in all she could.

It had been years since she'd been the sort to lounge in the sunlight without doing something, though, so closing her eyes and soaking it up only lasted for a minute. Then she was clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, sticking her hand through the fence and wiggling her fingers in what she hoped was an enticing matter at the closest horse. The grey eyed her with surprisingly expressive eyes; she was pretty sure she'd just been told where she could stick her treat-less hand, but then again, she could have been hallucinating. "Aw, c'mon." Adding a few croons and kisses didn't really help - on the older horse's part, at least. One of the foals lifted its' head, giant ears flapping as it peered curiously at her, and she laughed. "C'mere, girl. Hey." She cooed, wiggling both hands as if that might help get the point across.

Apparently, it did. The darker of the two babies came over to the fence when its' mom's back was turned, approaching fearlessly, knock-kneed legs surprisingly steady as it stood and stared up at her doe-eyed. "Aw." The little horse lipped at her outstretched fingers, and she giggled, wiggling them and trailing them up its' fuzzy face. Neck outstretched as far as it would go, the foal reached up to nibble at her jacket's sleeve, nostrils flaring as it snorted baby snot all over the hoodie. Thankful that she'd thought to not wear anything really expensive, she tickled the underside of the dark little horse's chin. It flapped its' lips, at least, baring pink baby gums up at her.

"Oh, you're cute." There was nothing for it; she was smitten. Then, she was also smitten every time she came across a puppy, kitten, or infant, so...really, that wasn't surprising. At least she had enough dignity not to resort to baby-talk as she gave the little spotty fellow a good scratch around the ears, laughing at the funny faces it pulled. Eventually, the other one ambled over and she had to split her attention between both of them - they reveled in it, contorting so that she could get to odd spots like under one's elbow or the other's fuzzy mane. They acted like her cat, all but purring beneath her scritching and scratching. The spotty one had shaggy, floppy hair; it was dark, almost black, and reminded her strangely of Auggie's. Really, a human shouldn't have hair that resembles a horse's, should it? It was, though - coarse and shaggy and floppy. She laughed, ruffling the horse's fuzzy mane with a grin.

Five minutes later, she was still playing with the foals - when she glanced up from her new friends to see an older one ambling, as if summoned, up the gravel path. He moved confidently, cane swinging lazily, eyes closed and nose in the air like he was smelling something. Briefly concerned that she might be hallucinating Aug's presence, she blinked, not even resuming her fun with the foals when one nudged her hand hopefully. He was tanned and grinning, hair streaked from sun exposure, and seriously, should he be moving that fast if he wasn't a hallucination? Her friend's ground-eating stride brought him quickly up the path, and she only had time to cast a wild glance up it to her smirking sister before he froze abruptly, five feet away.

"Annie Walker!" If she hadn't known his ass, she might have believed the surprised exclamation. "Fancy meeting you here." Ah; there it was. The too-innocent smile stretched across his cheeks, boyish and mischievous, and she laughed; all half-formed plans of trying to fool him (as always) stopping cold. Instead, she abandoned her new friends, not really caring if her uncharacteristic display of happiness was or wasn't something she was technically supposed to be doing - she took a flying bounce and bear-hugged her friend. Apparently, the sentiment was returned, since after a tight hug her feet left the ground. She made an undignified squeaking noise as, briefly, she seemed to fly through the air. Only a little dizzy, Annie laughed, lightly punching his shoulder as she took an unsteady step back. "You're back!"

...okay, so, not so very smooth but seriously. She was off her game, here, not having expected Auggie back any time soon and definitely not that he'd track her down and find her in the middle of nowhere. "You're - in the middle of Virginia, Auggie!" Really, seriously, that was important to point out. He was a little lost, if he was trying to get home, because this place was an hour outside of DC and - well, that just wasn't very close to home. Aug's smirk could have won awards; honestly, the obnoxious asshat was too cocky for his own good. Why didn't her plots to knock him down a peg ever come to fruition? "Oh? Here I thought I was in Florida. Must'a taken a wrong turn around Vegas." He shot back at her, and, tempting as it was, she refrained from punching him again since she was pretty sure that the girls were watching and they were already precocious enough without copying that.

"Gag. Eyeroll." She instead huffed, wrinkling her nose, then shooting a death glare towards Danielle until she turned back around to watch her damn kids. Auggie absently folded up his cane, still smirking, and she did roll her eyes, this time. "Seriously, you don't like...have some sort of spooky tracker on me? Right? Stalker!" She drew the last word out several syllables longer than it should have been, and his smirk only grew; but seriously, did he think the innocent face worked when he was grinning like the wolf in sheep's clothing?

"If I told you -" She couldn't let him finish that; the cliche police might spring out of the shrubs and shoot both of them. "You wouldn't get decaf coffee for the rest of your life." She cut him off, instead, reveling in the shocked pouty lipwibble he pulled out. Just as quickly as it appeared, though, the wolfish grin was back; this time his eyebrows waggled, and he lowered his voice. "You gonna be around that long, Walker? Bring me coffee when I'm eighty?" He smirked. She winced. Hell. That was the question, wasn't it? Part of being a super spy is talking out of your tuckus, though - so without pause, she shot right back, never mind that her voice shook a little or that she kind of felt like going and hiding behind the foals that were still watching her hopefully. "Not if you don't spill, spider man."

His eyes narrowed marginally, but he grinned quickly, taking slow sidewards steps until he hit the fence. Leaning on it and picking at a flake of paint, he nodded back up the path at Danielle. "Danielle is very helpful." He beamed. She narrowed her eyes; strode back over and resumed her absentminded playing with the foals. Apparently, Aug could sense that she was about to do harm unto him, since he continued quickly enough. "I got home this morning. Got bored. Worried about - well, Joan said something, so I called your phone. You didn't answer, called your house phone, no answer. So I called Danielle!" He beamed beatifically, like that was a reasonable response to her not answering her phone. She could have been in the shower, or sleeping, or - "She said that you would be out here for a while and yes, it would be lovely if I would surprise you, and yes, she would drive me home because any friend of Annie's is a friend of hers!"

He paused, apparently waiting for her to respond; when she didn't, immediately, he beamed even more innocently and tilted his head. "She gives really great directions? Though, I hope she doesn't drive as -" The temptation was too great: automatically, she socked him on the arm, snorting loudly. "Do you really want to finish that sentence, Anderson?" Not bothering with his false innocence, she tried injecting as much venom as she could. As usual, it failed. Miserably. The techie waggled his eyebrows at her, sticking a hand through the fence rails and waving a hand in the air until she automatically steered the paler foal towards him.

"Well? Are you surprised?" He sounded so hopeful, uncharacteristically so, that she had to smile. A little. "Yeah, Aug. I'm surprised." Gruffly, she huffed, definitely not at all affected by the boyish beam that lit up his face. She really had to nip that in the bud; Auggie was an amazing friend, but seriously, the butterflies had no place. He'd just flown to Africa for a girl, and she really did hope that he'd found what he was looking for. Speaking of - "Well? How was it? Did she apoplexy on the spot when you showed up? Did you get mauled by gunmen?" She wondered aloud, watching him explore the little gold foal's face with both hands, then scratch expertly beneath its' jaw.

His smile died down a little as he did so, and he ducked his head, eyes going distant for just a moment. Then he was grinning again, not pausing his scratching of the baby horse; much to the little one's joy. "It was eye-opening. If you'll pardon the pun." She snorted. Did it ever stop? "She didn't apoplexy. She was happy to see me. No, I didn't get mauled by anybody. Do I look mauled?" He grinned rakishly, and she rolled her eyes once more. "Maybe by the sun. Are you supposed to look like a cherry?"

Honestly, she couldn't help it. Teasing him came naturally, and he responded with an easy grin, lifting a hand to run through his hair. "I happen to know that I tan nicely, Walker. I bet you turn the color of a tomato, though, don't you?" With perfect innocence, he ignored her huff of indignance, leaning on the fence - and for a moment looking as tired and jetlagged as he probably would. Exasperation and affection warred briefly for dominance in the front of her mind; in the end, affection won out. She bumped shoulders in a fortifying kind of fashion, watching as one of the mom horses called the babies and they went galumphing back over.

Lacking something to do with her hands, she planted both on the top rail again and set her chin on them again, tilting her head sideways to watch Auggie. He leaned on the rail, too, arms trailing over the other side in some sort of ungainly sprawl. It looked slightly ridiculous. The air changed subtly, his brow set, his jaw clenched; she frowned. Was he that tired? Did she need to go make Dani hurry Chloe and Katia up?

"Talked to my doc. There is this treatment, with stem cells. I wanted in. I might have been able to see. They've already done trials; the results are amazing. Kids can see again, or at least it stops - I thought maybe -" His lips pulled back into what might have been meant to be a grin but looked more like a pained grimace. "Not for me. Got turned down. Not suitable." That was news to her; had she been so wrapped up in her own problems? When had that happened? "Parker...you know, she has the greatest eyes? I remember them. They light up when she gets angry. One time, before we shipped out, she was visiting Billy and he made fun of her shoes. Thought she was going to tear off his nose and feed it to him." He laughed, but it was a hollow sound. It made Annie's skin crawl, honestly.

Auggie took a deep (steadying?) breath, and smiled again, wistful and...soft? Honestly, she couldn't categorize it, it wasn't an expression that her friend wore all that often. "I thought..." He mulled a moment, eyes more distant than usual, half-lidded and more sheepish than sleepy. "I don't know what I thought. Maybe that that was more important than it was."

That was all that was said for a while - and Annie let the silence stand, processing exactly what he had told her. She had, of course, followed the headlines about the controversial treatment. Why had it never once occurred to her that Auggie's blindness wasn't something that he had just accepted? That it wasn't part of who he had been for most of his life? Even that he might like to be able to see again? No; that wasn't entirely fair. She didn't often ponder his lack of sight. Auggie was Auggie, but...what would he have been like, even?

Well, it wasn't like she was going to know. Not with no hope for him recovering that - and, that being the case, there was no sense dwelling on it. "Auggie," She sighed, wrinkling her nose and pulling a face. She was going to have to inflate his overzealous ego. It wasn't something she relished. (That was a lie, but she'd never admit it to anybody. Ever.) "I can't speak for you, or for - anybody else but me, but for what it's worth, I think you do just fine. Eyes or no eyes." A beat, and she contemplated what would be just a little more upbeat. Eventually, she grinned, hipchecking him lightly. "At least you're not Jai."

Their rivalry wasn't exactly hush-hush; and she didn't at all consider it sneaky to put that out there. It got the desired effect, anyways, when his droopy sad eyes lit up and he perked up again, animated once more. "Did Joan seriously deck him last week? Stu swears she did." He exclaimed, head swinging vaguely to where Dani appeared to be calling them, down the fenceline. Automatically taking his extended elbow, Annie smiled, falling in step with the techie and huffing a bark of laughter. "No, she did not deck him. You know that's illegal, right?" Actually, she'd heard the same rumor, but the rumor mill also said that the decking had been followed by wild monkey sex, so honestly, what were the odds? Plus, ew. Just ew. Undaunted, Auggie gave what could only be described as a cackle, all but bouncing as he dragged her back up the gravel path. So much for her leading.

"Aw, c'mon, where's your imagination? The building is crawling with a couple thousand spooks, Annie! You couldn't pin down the truth with a pitchfork and a stick of dynamite." He exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his free hand. Unable to resist the giggle that that brought, she didn't even try, undignified as the half-squawk she blurted was. Aug didn't seem to mind, but somehow she was almost ninety percent sure that he had the James Bond theme going in his head.

Men.


	5. Alchemy

A/N: Woo, hi guys! This one might be kind of short, but I've been wrestling with another Word for several days and the stinkin'thing's hit like 7k words and isn't even two thirds done as it stands...and I'm determined to just WRITE something and get it posted tonight, going against my nature or not. ;) I may or may not post the epic chapter of insanity because I DO like some of the dialogue, but, for now this'll do.

I would just like to express my gratitude for the people who review - you guys, it's seriously a little bit silly how much each of your reviews lights up my day. I am not and will not ask for reviews (again, unless you see something you don't like or think I could improve on, because I am new at this and I need direction!), but I would really just like you to know how much that means to me, for those who do. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not even rights to a beta! ;) So all mistakes are mine.

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Alchemy

1. A power or process of transforming something common into something special.

2. An inexplicable or mysterious transmuting.

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There was something about the DPD - some intangible quality that, as far as Joan Campbell was concerned, set her department ahead of the rest. It was some mixture of normal habits for people in their line of work (psychotic loyalty, tireless work ethic, tame rebelliousness, ingenuity, genius), but somehow, her people put in the work and out came something _more_.

Joan Campbell loved her division.

Every morning, she awoke ready (after half a pot of coffee and some sweet-talking from her husband) and raring to knock another day out of the park, do her damnedest to help _her_ people do their jobs. Do the jobs that they signed up for, but she made possible, she was responsible for in the end. It wasn't easy, wasn't something she always loved, and it sure as Hell wasn't something that she wished on too many people. She was doing it, though. She was the Director.

She was a _damn_ good Director. Anybody who told you otherwise was either lying or foolish.

She did her job. She made sure that her people did theirs. In the end, the world was a better place for her division.

Today was one of those days wherein she would very much liked to line them all up like the children that they could be and paddle them. That, or make them run circuits of Langley until their legs fell off - and maybe both, for some of them, she mused as she glared venomously through her window at a certain newish recruit.

Walker, at least, had the good sense to look like she was considering making a break for it. The girl was observant, at least, never stopping her constant observation of her surroundings. She had excellent instincts, and she was smart; a little bit green, a little bit too sensitive, yes, but smart. Maybe she even reminded her a little bit of herself. That didn't mean that occasionally she didn't wish she could go back and beat the stuffing out of Rookie-Joan, or her doe-eyed doppelganger down in the bullpen. As a matter of fact, age and experience made her all the more exasperated, on days like today, days when said doppelganger needlessly put herself in the line of fire.

It didn't help that agents Escher and Donaldson had gone against direct orders to save Walker's ass. Or that Auggie had traumatized his entire department for the third time in his week of being back. Or that Jai had somehow managed to swoop in and play Annie's Knight in Shining Armor when Escher and Donaldson got their asses handed to them.

Why did it seem that that damn rookie was _always_ the cause of things exploding, going horribly awry, and the entire bullpen walking on eggshells, just praying that she didn't decide to descend on them in a righteous fury?

Why couldn't her life just be normal?

_Stop being a baby,_ The sarcastic bite of her inner monologue huffed. _You know that's what makes them the best._

Unfortunately, her inner monologue was right. Her people were obscenely loyal. Escher had looked her dead in the eye, told her that Walker hadn't gone into a building full of drug lords, managed to con her way into their poker game, and win. Escher didn't even know Walker! She was fresh off a stint in Turkey, for chrissakes! Even Donaldson had sworn that his partner and Walker hadn't stepped foot inside the building. Jai hadn't even stuck around long enough to say anything, and honestly? She knew when backing off was the right move with Anderson. He was her best asset, the key to most of this whole shindig, and Hell if she was going to get in his way most of the time. Even if she had to send poor Derringer to mandatory counseling until he could stop flinching every time somebody raised a coffee cup around him.

Just how was she supposed to _discipline_ them, though? That was the question. Technically, and on what few records they kept, nobody had gone into that building. That damn gang banger had walked out all on his own - run, actually, shirt on fire and his crew on him like sugar-high six year olds on ice cream. Rossabi hadn't even asked any questions, but really, she wasn't entirely fond of how things were progressing with the FBI agent.

Even if it was halfway nice to have a pet FBI agent to poke and prod as she pleased.

Walker seemed to understand, if not instinctively (she had, after all, been staring at her balefully for most of five minutes now), pretty damn well that she was up to her eyeballs in a world of pain. She just had to give her _one_ excuse to hang her out to dry.

Unfortunately for her inner vindictive side, Walker had been on her best behavior. She'd been positively obedient all afternoon, almost downtrodden after she'd finished plying her saviors with what Joan was pretty sure were not office-proper gifts; but she wasn't _that_ much of a bitch. She actually kind of felt bad for Annie, since the girl had gone bolting from Auggie's office like her tail was on fire, still clutching a bright gift bag with an overabundance of shiny ribbons about an hour ago. How her junior agent had managed to procure gifts on her lunch break, Joan had no idea, but right now between the decided and very obvious cloud of doom and ire hanging over Auggie's half of the DPD and her staredown, Walker wasn't looking too perky.

And damn it all right to Hell if she didn't feel a little bad for her.

It was irrational. It was soft. It was - probably human, but Joan prided herself on being able to step beyond that. To see the whole. To see the end product of whatever was going on, and ignore the present when she needed to. That didn't help, though, when her messy-haired mentee dropped her face to her desk and sat that way for a minute and a half. It didn't help when her neighbors in the bullpen kept shooting woebegotten looks between their pet newbie, her office, and Auggie's.

Joan didn't mind being the bad guy. She didn't even mind that some people thought she was heartless. They would think what they would; she did her job, and she did a damn good job of it. She was pretty sure she hadn't done anything to Walker today, though. There hadn't been the opportunity _for_ her to, for all that anybody and everybody in here knew that if she could have, she would have brought the hand of an angry God down on her errant agents. That didn't stop her from being effected by their hopeful looks, or their judgmental ones, or their sad ones, either. She was human, for all that that was mostly annoying.

After the _eighth _agent glanced up from their (very important, maybe they needed to be reminded of that) work to stare pointedly in the her-Annie-Auggie's-office path, though, it hit her.

_Fix that please_. She'd known Addy for ten years, had even been partnered with him a time or two. She could read the pointed request easily enough even from several yard up and away. She scowled. Addy tilted his head, eyebrows flashing as he grinned up at her and once more let his eyes wander the triangle of places. Back to her. Absently, Joan wondered if the agent would be able to understand eyelid Morse code for 'do it yourself Romeo' or maybe a far less polite 'stuff it'

_It's your job you know_, Helpfully, the obnoxious monologue/conscience/troublemaker pointed out. Her scowl darkened. No. Her job was to ensure that her department worked at optimal levels, and got their jobs done.

...damn it.

Yeah, nobody was getting any work done. They were too busy trying not to eavesdrop openly, or stealthily sleeping on their desks - or had abandoned all pretense of work, as Addy, and were staring at her. _That_ just set her on edge, and the temptation to put the fear of God in them was strong. Grinding her molars, she tossed down the paperwork from today's shenanigans on her desk and very pointedly did-not-stomp out of her office. No, she glided, pulling on her most effective Ice Queen mask and giving each and every slacker a good dose of a You Will Pay stare. "You have work, people,"Keeping her tone as even as possible, she thinned her lips, pausing at the top of the stairs. Okay, so maybe she did still hold some power over them; most of them looked like puppies caught eating cat litter. Valiantly, she resisted the sigh that bubbled up at that. They were all five year olds.

"I advise you to finish yours by the end of the day, if you wish to make it home for dinner."As if uninterested in the outcome, she descended the stairs, moving slowly and carefully. It hadn't taken too many times nearly falling on her face in her normal bat-out-of-hell pace to notice that that didn't foster any sort of respectful environment. Plus, the slow pace gave her time to survey her troops, make sure they all understood that she would do something of moderate awfulness to them if they didn't do as she said. It seemed to work, and peace reigned in the sound of typing and pens scratching as she paraded warily towards Auggie's office. She pointedly ignored one of the newer tech ops agents' wide-eyed stare, though it was somewhat hard to resist rolling her eyes. Really, did they think she was stupid?

The door opened smoothly, and as she closed it behind her, silence reigned for several moments. Her second was typing steadily, occasionally pausing to read something on his braille output. He'd snort and resume his work, only occasionally frustrated enough to press extra-hard on a key or two. Being ignored was not something she would usually have accepted from any of her people, but Anderson was different - and, admittedly, sometimes she had more patience for his shenanigans than she might have if he wasn't, well, Auggie.

Still, she knew him, and knew that it was only a matter of time until he couldn't stand it any more and had to acknowledge her presence. It didn't take as long as she expected, this time; he stopped, apparently midsentence, to glance over his shoulder automatically, eyes narrowing. "You'll have my report at the end of the day, Joan."He tried; they both knew it was mostly for show, but that was how these arguments usually started. She did sigh, now. Four years of working closely, and you'd think the idiot would know better than to try and BS her.

"I am well aware of that, Auggie."She parried, her usual response to his fits of temper. With Anderson, it was a balance between calm and taking the offense, with neither working exclusively. He was tough to crack, to keep on track, but Joan was pretty much capable. "What I would like to know is why you have been tormenting your people all week. You have Derringer on the edge of wetting himself. The boy needs encouragement, not you throwing your coffee at him when her gets it wrong."She glanced towards the younger operative's desk, somehow managing an encouraging smile for the young agent. The tousle-headed kid blinked, then smiled sunnily. Okay, maybe not.

If she were being honest, that wasn't the entire reason she was here - it definitely wasn't that she had a soft spot for Walker, no, Walker was a pain in the ass - but she didn't really need him to buy it. She just needed him to stop being such a grumpy bear and scaring people away, because if any of those promising-but-too-damn-sensitive younger agents that they'd brought into Auggie's care went running to the hills, she was going to hang him up by his toenails. Really.

The younger agent clenched his jaw to the point where she heard teeth squeak, arms crossing over his chest. "Got it."He bit out, and she narrowed her eyes. Perhaps she had missed something, because monosyllabic August Anderson was not the most common sight. He was usually outspoken. "That all?"He was already halfway to turning back to his desk, and it was her turn to scowl, advancing a step. Most people - not just her people, _all_ people - found that intimidating. Anderson only paused, blinking balefully up at her, eyes narrowed. Vaguely, she wondered exactly how to put her tirade in terms that he would understand and take to heart. _Stop being a jackass or I will take you out_ was probably not going to do it. "I asked you a question, Auggie."Calm. Collected. "And I expect an answer, whether you do or do not have one that is an acceptable excuse for your behavior."There; a tic in his jaw. Just a jump, one, of his whole cheek, but she'd gotten to him. Blind or not, she kept her expression bland, arms crossed, waiting (im)patiently for a reply from him. It didn't take long.

Apparently, it was worse than she thought, since the younger man deflated "I'm sorry, Joan. It wasn't his fault."A mutinous mumble or not, she read him loud and clear. He shot a quick look towards the general direction of Derringer's desk, face crinkling in dismay. "He _is_ an idiot, though."

It was hard, sometimes, not banging her head on the wall in frustration. Was this what kindergarten teachers felt like? Two steps forward, three back? Before she could voice her frustration, though, Auggie had somehow managed to work out what the real cause of her visit was. He was an intelligent individual. "I _told_ Annie not to go in that building. I told her that, never mind them killing her mark, she was going to get herself shot. You told her that. I'm pretty sure that Arthur told her. And when she did? I sent Escher and Donaldson in. They didn't go in by themselves, Joan."Okay, so that was news to her. She narrowed her eyes, ready to hand him his ass on a platter, but he was already continuing. "They wanted to know if they could. You were busy, I told them to get in and get out. That was bad judgement on my part. It could have cost their lives, and the operation."

Tempting as it was to let him know just how far out of line he'd been, she stayed absolutely silent, hoping that it would spur him to explaining. It didn't work immediately, and he was contritely quiet for a long moment, scowling unhappily into the middle distance (or nothing, really). "And whether or not it actually goes on record, that's on me."Finally, he looked up, grinning a bitter parody of that striped cat's - Cheshire? - grin. "I'd do it again."The bitter finality of that wasn't something she'd heard in a while, wasn't something the healed-and-sane August Anderson usually partook in. Briefly taken aback by his open defiance, his lack of concern for it, she blinked and inhaled, trying to think of something to say to that statement.

Was there really anything you could say? What do you say to your most loyal, most trusted agent - friend, damn the torpedoes and anybody who tells her she can't be friends with her people sometimes - when he tells you that there's a good chance he's going to get somebody killed at some point?

That you _understand_?

Joan Campbell considered herself an intelligent woman; not wise, perhaps, but intelligent. She did know of the inner workings of her people. She knew the strings to pull, the arcane ways of their working and staying in line. She did not, however, know just how to break it to a friend that you have to learn to balance your _duty_, your job, and your love.

It wasn't time to figure that out, anyways. Not yet.


	6. Ludic

A/N: Here, we find ourselves at the end of several more days spent writing one Word, without real inspiration as to how to finish it. I'm starting to think I have a hard time grasping the PURPOSE of these; alas. I'm trying to finish that one up, I promise! Oh well. Here's tonight's. I hope you guys like it as much as the last one! (And have I mentioned how much I adore my awesome reviewers? Yes?) Also, this WAS tonight's when I wrote it. Then wouldn't let me log in, so, fail. Whatever. It's here now!

I SWEAR I can write in mostly proper English, guys. I have no idea at all why, when I upload things, they're all discombobulated and it won't let me fix it. :( Sad.

Disclaimer: Not mine! Don't sue me. Also unbeta'd.

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Ludic

**1. **Of, relating to, or characterized by play **:** playful

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"Oh, come on, Walker!"

Auggie lurched into one of the office's side-yards, his bright grin belying the sharp tone of his voice. His black gym shirt and pants looked absolutely out of place among the Suits who parted to let him by; not to mention the fact that he was barefoot. Annie ducked behind a fragrant ornamental pear tree, clamping a hand over her mouth to stop the giggle that threatened to explode forth. Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly _fair_, but maybe Aug would get it through his thick skull that taunting her wasn't really the wisest plan he could come up with after a few minutes squishing around in the grass. The sun shone brightly overhead for the first time in what seemed like a week, the grass was warm, and never mind acting like an adult: she was having fun. They didn't exactly have control over what they did on their lunch breaks, now did they?

"You're running off with a blind guy's shoes? Really?" He'd paused mid-stride, lowering his foot and narrowing his eyes, swinging his head in one direction and then the other like a bloodhound on a scent. The superimposed mental image of a floppy-eared mutt and Aug was too much - she let loose the shout of laughter that had been lurking in wait, then squeaked and bolted as he immediately darted after her. "Now who's too slow?" She called over her shoulder, and cackled (there was really no other word for it) as he sped up, bare feet springing off of the soft spring grass. He had awesome instincts, and he _was_ faster than her; not that she'd admit it, but she wasn't in her Louis Vouittons. No, she was in her fancy running shoes, and nobody could - holy hell he was fast!

Narrowly escaping his grasp, she laughed again, diving to the side and hopping over a well-manicured and mulched bed of early daffodils. The Suits were staring at them, but the occasional DPD agent paused only momentarily before smiling and moving on. Annie might never really underestimate her coworker, but as she made a dash for it with his shiny work shoes held firmly in one hand, she had to admit that he was better than she thought. Not that that was underestimating. No! More like...well, something. She couldn't actually take the time to think of something, since he had somehow radar-detected the daffodils and leaped over them like a gazelle or rabbit and was diving for his duds again. Laughing, she threw herself at the ground and rolled, grunting as all of the air left her lungs. It was still not impossible to bounce up on the second spin, diving behind a tree and holding her breath.

That did the trick. Of course, she was winded from hitting the ground still, so holding her breath wasn't exactly enjoyable - but she managed it, pain or no pain. Sure, little spots started dancing around her eyes as Auggie crept quietly past the tree, arms outstretched, but it was totally worth it. It was _especially_ worth it when she pounced out from her hiding spot, and -

Found her ass on the ground again, blinking dazedly up at the happy white spring Dogwood blossoms of the tree she'd been hiding behind. At least she could breathe, and did so, even as a smirking face loomed over hers. "Ha." He grinned, and plucked his shoes from her grasp as she scowled ineffectively up at him. "Hey! Not fair." The protest wasn't exactly sincere (okay, really, did the Universe expect it to be?), but he didn't even need to buy it. Being Auggie, he wouldn't have either way, sincere or not.

"You're one to talk." He chuckled, and she huffed, prodding at his chest. Clearly, he had no sense of fairness (or he would have gotten up, because she was pretty sure Rawlins from Tech Ops and the biggest gossip in the DPD was staring, but then again...she really didn't care) or decency. Apparently, in addition to being at least half _cat_, he was telepathic; his smirk only grew after an instinctive glance over his shoulder. "Think Joan'll send us to the bad kid's corner? I bet she knows you stole my shoes already. I can _feel_ Rawlins staring. Wanna give her a show?"

The mixture of mischief and absurdity got its' usual effect; helpless, she laughed, then used his _face_ to lever herself out from under him and up off of the ground. "Oh, ew! Aug! You made me get mud all over my shirt." Dismayed, she nonetheless helped him up, then valiantly tried to assess the damage to the back of her shirt. Thankfully, she'd worn her own black getup, so it wasn't _awful_.

Still. She would get him back for that one. Her fault in the first place? Pffft.

Shoes dangling from one hand and absolutely unashamed of the mud smeared on his face, Auggie grinned broadly, hooking an arm around her elbow lazily and parading back towards the gym's entrance. "Ah, grasshopper. You must learn to be one with the mud. As does the grass grow, so do you." He drawled in a Sagely, grand tone, nodding in what she assumed was supposed to be a wise kind of fashion. It was kind of offset by the stringy, sweaty hair that flopped into his eyes and the fact that he wasn't wearing any shoes as they strolled back into one of the most secure and uptight buildings on the _planet_. "That doesn't even make any sense." Annie informed him drolly, tugging him subtly back on track as he got distracted by his own ego and tried to lead them into a wall instead of the locker rooms.

"This way, Yoda. Before you start smelling like a buffalo. Wouldn't want to scare off Melinda." She smirked; Auggie made a wounded face. Flapped his unoccupied hand wildly. "One, Yoda? Really, that's the best you've got? Two, you can't leave me with her again. She wants to jump my bones. _Like a lioness._" He hissed the last, eyes flicking in a paranoid fashion around the gym. Annie giggled without really meaning to, unable to stop the unfeminine snort that bubbled up when she tried to stop the laughter. Aug's eyes narrowed, and he pulled a pout, appearing absolutely betrayed as he grasped caught her hand and dragged it to his chest. "You wound me!" It was too much; she punched him lightly, rolling her eyes and pausing before the guys'room door. "Oh, for the love of - you'll live. Pansy. If you head back up without me, tell Joan rolling in the grass with you got grass in my hair and I had to -"

Apparently forgetting that she had mortally wounded him, Auggie's eyes widened and his mouth snapped shut, quivering as he fought a smile. She narrowed her eyes, mentally rewinding just far enough to realize her error. _Never say anything that can even slightly be construed inappropriately, all men are secretly twelve years old_. It was a hard battle not to facepalm or facepalm Aug, but she managed it with an epic eyeroll. "No comment." The younger agent huffed, then flounced into the women's locker room in the midst of another epic-scale eyeroll. Men! Honestly.

Ten minutes later, thoroughly showered and smelling once more of coconuts and mint instead of grass and mud thanks to copious amounts of shampoo, Annie felt better. Sure, her hair was still wet and she'd had to twist it up into a bun, but she could honestly say that she didn't care that much. Working off frustration from a week from Hell in the gym, learning new offensive techniques, and then giving in to her inner five year old made for the best Friday she'd had in a good long time.

Though she'd never actually admit it, the day got even brighter when she ambled out of the locker room and found Auggie waiting, having somehow procured a tall smoothie from the gym's smoothie-slash-healthy-stuff bar. Was he part ninja? The shower ninja? How he'd managed it, she did not know, but she wasn't about to complain. She accepted the pineapple-guava smoothie with a crow of delight, eyes closing in bliss as she took a long drink. "Mmmm. That's almost as good as a frozen coffee." Falling in step with her friend, she grinned, eyeing his drink warily. It was vividly green, and looked a little like something that might be radioactive. "That where you get your superpowers?" The question was out before her mental filter got a chance to catch up - and apparently, was way more funny than she thought.

While Auggie laughed madly, her cheeks flamed, and she punched the elevator button a little harder than was really entirely necessary. "That's right, Walker." The doors dinged open, and he paraded into the elevator, blissfully unaware (lies!) of the stares they got for his strut and her dismay. He flapped a hand and punched the second floor's button, then leaned against the grab-bar, still smirking in her direction as she tried to convey _I will kick your ass_ through telepathy. It didn't work, but she'd mostly forgotten about it by the time they reached the DPD, ambling in just as the clock over the doorway slid to one PM.

The indulgent smiles from the older agents were normal; so were the veiled glares by one or two of the female agents (and one of the males - bless Cooper's heart), and the amusement from Bea and Stu as Auggie sipped pointedly on his fluorescent green smoothie. Annie ignored him as much as she could, pretty much just along for the ride as he sashayed her through the bullpen to her desk and stopped like a good seeing eye handler. The parade stopped then, though, and as he glanced towards the sound of Joan's approaching footsteps his playful expression smoothly fell into one more appropriate for a work environment. "We'll pick back up on the roundhouse next week, Walker. You should read up on Palermo; your flight leaves at 0800 tomorrow." He announced a little too loudly, earning a _look_ from their boss. Joan paused in her prowl of the bullpen, eyebrows lifting smoothly into her well-coiffed hairline. Auggie beamed innocently towards the older agent. "Joan! Just who I was looking for."

He really had to work on his innocent face, because that one just didn't work. Annie met Joan's eyes and flicked her own eyes skyward. For a moment - just one - Joan's cool facade broke and she smiled, eyebrows flicking a little in response. Aug's eyes narrowed in the silence, but the director's boss face had returned, and she eyed her second with distant curiosity.

"Oh?" If disinterest could take audible form in one word, she'd managed it. Annie was duly impressed. Nonetheless, it didn't do anything to deflate her handler. He just beamed, nodding and stepping out, arm extended. Joan accepted it, nodding calmly to her and walking over to Auggie's office with him.

Annie watched them go, smiling a little. Somehow, she got the feeling that her friend was doing his damnedest to distract Joan Campbell from the rumors of their lapse in professionalism - and, vaguely, she hoped that he would succeed. It _was_ kind of her fault, after all. Kind of! Just a little, really, not even all that much. Still. She wasn't too worried about Aug. In spite of Joan's epic expressions of doom and Rawlins' death glare from her desk across the bullpen, Annie knew damn well that their boss had a soft spot for Auggie. Who was she to deny the natural progression of that into him saving her ass just a little bit? Technically, he did that often enough as it was.

Even if she did have to break out the Patron gold later to repay him.

Was that really much of a punishment?


	7. Vilipend

A/N: Working on an overly-fluffy oneshot for 'Aubade' right now because I REALLY like the word and don't want to let it go...really not so good at getting these up daily, but I'm sure I'm not even close to the rules anyways, so hey. The rules can suck it. This is kind of short and pointless, but I wanted to write somebody other than just Annie and Auggie before the fluff-fest of the one I'm working on right now, so. ;)

Not sure if I've mentioned it quiiite enough, but I just want to squish you reviewers and love you and never let you go. So much love!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is unbeta'd!

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Vilipend

1. To regard or treat as of little value or account.

2. To vilify; depreciate

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Lunch time at the CIA headquarters at Langley wasn't _that_ much different than lunch at the high school a few miles down the road (If you could discount the occasional international crisis that left it deserted).

Friends gathered around tables, gossip spread at paces that anybody might have been impressed by. Who you sat with was who the rest of the building judged you by. Occasionally somebody had a breakdown for no apparent reason beyond a burned hamburger. The food sometimes made somebody sick. Nobody had any secrets because everybody knows everything when you're a teenager. Or work for the CIA. Really, not much of a difference. Except the classes.

In the southwestern corner of the whole shebang, with a good view of the rest of the dining hall and their backs against a wall rather than the rest of their peers, the DPD's tech ops agents held court. With a spring thunderstorm raining hellfire and brimstone outside, their Monday gathering was as animated as Annie Walker had ever seen it. Sandwiched between Auggie and the wall in their booth, she observed the hall from a skewed position - well, mostly just from under her arm, since the light was _still_ hurting her eyes and maybe it hadn't been the best of ideas to go out on a Sunday night. Stu and Barber had the other, and were keeping Auggie entertained anyways, so she ignored her Chick Fil A sandwich steadily and kept her head down. The idea of eating it was making her slightly queasy. _Damn the Russians and their booze and sleeplessness_.

"Oh my God! No way." Barber gasped, across the way, and the ridiculousness of the statement was enough incintive for Annie to lift her head marginally from the table to stare at him in wide-eyed amusement. He grinned cheekily at her, and she rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Barber, you had to see _that_ one coming." She teased, in spite of never wanting to speak again in favor of keeping her headache down. "Or has working for outside of the DPD killed your instincts?"

Okay, maybe two years with the DPD wasn't really enough to take that tack - in her mind, it was. Burnout was high. She should have cracked months ago, if she was going to. Barber didn't even seem to recognize the jab; his eyes had glazed over. Apparently, news of Bea and the Starbucks girl going at it in a Janitor's closet had killed the rest of his reasoning. Annie sighed longsufferingly, but Auggie and Stu both cackled like hyenas.

Why couldn't she have female friends?

Or maybe it was that she was sitting with the tech ops guys. They had to be less sane than normal, right?

After a moment, Stu stopped cackling long enough to grin over at her, eyebrows doing a funny dance. "Aw, come on, Annie. Even you can see how that's surprising. Now, I totally could have seen the Panera girl -" Barber's eyes widened, and he sputtered. Stu paused, then burst into laughter once more.

At least Auggie had the decency to look mildly confused, now, as their colleagues both gasped for air. "Maybe they've been in your drawer." Annie mumbled sidelong, wishing wistfully that they didn't have such loud laughs. That and that they didn't have some sort of geek ESP to communicate without including her in on the joke, if she was going to have to endure their laughter. Her handler smirked, nodding ruefully and finishing his sandwich with a happy hum. "Wouldn't surprise me. Not like I could see 'em sneaking around." He grinned, and she groaned, kicking sideways in an attempt to not have to move her torso. That seemed to help her head, at any rate.

While Stu and Barber were still caught up in the throes of their own genius, Auggie squinted towards her, then reached out sideways until his hand collided with her drink; a bottle of vitamin water. Pointedly, he grabbed it and slid it along until it collided with her arm, then deposited a pair of pills on the table next to the bottle. She blinked, vaguely, at the pills - then giggled, weakly. "You're like a magician, Aug." Still snickering, she obligingly knocked back the pills with her drink, wrinkling her nose vaguely. Perhaps she should have been paying attention to what size they were before she downed both of them at once. "What were those? Horse pills? Jeez, Auggie." A few more drinks, and she stopped whining for long enough to finally take a bite of her sandwich. Whatever it was, she didn't want to be hurling it in a few minutes.

"Don't be a baby, Walker." Aug grinned, then inclined his head in the general direction of the table nearest them - where a few of the senior DPD agents were seated. "Jenkins and Carlos stopped by specifically to tell me that they saw you try out navigating blind into the building this morning. You know, they make sunglasses for that." He leaned back, crossing his arms and grinning at his own wit. Apparently, Stu and Barber were done with their own hilarity; they had both shut up and re-applied themselves to their lunch, watching the back-and-forth like a tennis match.

Well, it wasn't like that was uncommon. She was busy trying to explode her unwitting tattle-tales' heads with her mind, though. "I don't know where my sunglasses ended up. Um...they may still be on El Churro's taxidermy Burro's face." She muttered. Yeah, that was the last place she remembered them being. Dani's idea of a girl's night had always been messed up. After half a pitcher of beer and a few shots of vodka, it had seemed like a great idea. One shining memory blasted through the haze, though, and she beamed at her table-mates. "I beat the record on their bucking mule machine!"

_That_ got their attention. Having momentarily forgotten that they were all _men_, and men's minds lived only in one spot, she sighed at the identical glazed-over grins on all three faces. Yeah, that had been her bad.

Aug was the first to drag himself from wherever that sent his brain, and he grinned wolfishly as he cleared his throat and spoke up again. "Moving on. Yeah, well, that doesn't mean you should try to keep your eyes closed. Reva could have run you over." He paused expectantly for her laugh (and she did, helplessly), before continuing. " Anyways, I need you at your best. The Syria debriefing is in two hours, and a little bird told me that you could be on point for the extraction of our diplomat." With perfect innocence, he beamed, and Annie fought the urge to bounce excitedly. There hadn't been as many overseas missions since she'd been cleared, but a high-tension mission? That was totally a vote of confidence! She let her inner child do a little victory dance unabashedly.

It needed the win, anyways.

Stu was doing one physically, anyways, ending it with an awkward thrust of a fist at her face which she nearly ducked until she realized it was for a fistbump. "Annie, awesome! I've been trying to get Joan to green light Jones and me on that, but you and Aug'll do even better. Jones has the walking Montezuma's Revenge after last week in Colombia." He wrinkled his nose ruefully. Annie cringed. Yeah, she was so not touching that. Barber was making enough gagging noises for both of them, anyways, eyes wide. Auggie wore his best cat in the cream smirk, puffing out his chest proudly. "We do our best." He grinned. She couldn't help but join in.

With that spurring her on, she downed the rest of her sandwich while they traded jabs with Barber, not really paying attention to the proceedings. As usual, they were roundly abusing Jai; it was the norm, since Barber had transferred away and returned, sheepishly, to their lunch spot rather than be shunned by...well, everybody. It had taken a few days, but apparently there was some sort of guy pact about it.

Annie didn't know. She really didn't care, either. Their vilification of her former coworker was - well, she just didn't much like to think about it. It either made her sad or enraged at said Wilcox, and either of those would upset the delicate truce between excitement and the lava in her skull that had temporarily given way.

So she just set herself to the task of demolishing her chicken sandwich and even the waffle fries (she definitely deserved them), and let their gossiping and sniping a comforting wash in the background of her attention span. Sure, they weren't teenaged girls and thus their gossip was probably nicer, and maybe the combined looks of pity and jealousy from other agents and workers were a little strange. That didn't make her choice of dining partners any less amusing, most of the time. It was sometimes strange, working at the CIA and not really being sure of who you can trust - well, okay, there was Auggie; Always Auggie - but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy it.

Even if she _was_ convinced that Stu was the mastermind behind all of the untrue rumors that spread, she mused as he gesticulated wildly, telling a tall tale in hushed undertones. Had he already gotten past Jai's dalliance with his secretary? Barber and Auggie were paying rapt attention to it, anyways, both wide eyed and looking mildly horrified.

"So then I ran like hell and hoped they didn't see me." He concluded, and all three of them burst into uproarious laughter once more. Annie finished her sandwich and leaned back, eyeing the guys with a smirk and a shake of her head. Excited to get back to work and see what was up in Syria or not, she still had...seven minutes left to listen to the wonder trio's shenanigans. Yeah, shenanigans. She was going to enjoy them, too, never mind anything else.


	8. Aubade

A/N: Okay, I keep meaning to sit down and write something with substance, with actual plot...but then I get intimidated and what comes out is mindless fluff. Don't know why I'm intimidated; I like my writing just fine. Mmmph. All the same - I'm working on something to post as a standalone. Anybody want to read and point out major plot-holes/cheer on my apparent lapse in ego? Until I get that one hammered out, here, have fluff! Long live fluff. Do you guys know how long it took me to find the treason quote? For a throwaway remark! Shebus. I think that half of fanfic is wrapped up in researching little things that nobody notices.

Consider this almost directly after "Alchemy" I don't know, it just works. This switches midway from Auggie POV to Annie's; it's clearly marked. ;) The song sung for the Word is "It's Only a Paper Moon" which I spent waaay too much time looking for to find the perfect one. Heh! I highly advise going to look it up; as sung by Ella Fitzgerald is, in my opinion, the best. Youtube is your friend!

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't own anything! Unbeta'd! This would have been uploaded yesterday, but alas, was being rude on the upload page.

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Aubade

**1:** a song or poem greeting the dawn

2: _a_ **:** a morning love song

_b_ **:** a song or poem of lovers parting at dawn

3**:** morning music

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Last call at Allen's was usually a hectic, harrying time for the bartenders and patrons both - regulars, though, knew that there were two last calls on Fridays. One cleared most people out, sent the kids in college on to better pastures of booze at a relatively sane midnight. The next didn't occur for several hours; when those in the know would trickle out in small groups, generally more sober than they had been at the first last call. Honestly, it made more sense when you partook in it.

Auggie'd known about this tradition since...well, since he started coming here. He had been a glad participant of the occasional too-rowdy night spent singing bad karaoke, but even more he enjoyed that the owner was an aficionado of jazz and would bring out his old record player most weeks. Sometimes he'd bring in a record to share, sometimes one of the others would. Memorably, the occasional bar-going enthusiast would bring by rare recordings. It was maybe not the most eventful way to spend your Friday night, but as far as he was concerned, it was far better than the loud, obnoxious clubs coworkers and friends tried to drag him to.

Nursing what was only his fifth beer in nearly as many hours, he leaned back in his chair, listening to the few people still lingering shuffling around the cleared spot in the back of the tavern. He didn't need working eyes to know they weren't the best dancers, but from their occasional laughs, they were enjoying their attempts to dance to some of Satchmo's early music. Generally, he probably would have roped somebody into taking him home, or caught a cab - it had been a long day, though, and long days are only improved at all by long evenings sitting at your favorite tavern.

Idly tracing the grain in the heavy wooden table he sat at, he closed his eyes, drifting a little in attention to his surroundings in favor of following the clear thrum of the trumpet. Deprived one sense, his appreciation of good music was...well, it was different. When he closed his eyes, focused, he could almost _feel_ the music. Louis wasn't the only one playing; he could hear a damn good trombone, piano, trombone...clarinet, too, warm and soft, alongside the pluck of what he was pretty sure was a banjo dueling with drums. The mood of it was fun, and finally he allowed himself a smile, head falling to the side. Distantly, he was aware that at some point in the piece Annie joined him (though if you asked him, he wasn't sure how; she smelled like a long day and had a limp and...flip-flops?), but, not entirely ready for _that_ mess, he let her stew. Honestly, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to strangle the stubborn girl or drag her home and _never let her leave again_, and speaking before thinking hadn't been his thing since he'd been a teenager. All the training had to come in handy sometime, right?

It was selfish. It was harsh. It was probably a little bit childish, if Joan's behavior was anything to go by. (The piano and trombone broke into a solo; automatically, he grinned, amused by the players' obvious rapport as they battled tit for tat) He was also one-hundred percent _certain_ that it had been avoidable. Call him possessive and controlling, but if your handler tells you not to do something, you damn well don't do it. They could have set the whole shebang up again at a later date. They could have caught the guy at another time. They wouldn't have been able to drag Annie back if she'd gone and gotten her skull blown in half by some thug with a Tommy gun and anger issues.

Okay, maybe his meditation at the tavern hadn't quite taken all of the edge off of his anger. Feeling just a little bit like a caged lion, he drummed his fingers on the table, unable to stop the faint scowl that crept in as the white noise of 'what if' drowned out the impressive solo. "You ought to be sleeping, Walker." The reprimand was out before he could consider that it sounded like something his grandmother would say - he frowned, then decided he didn't care, not bothering to try for eye contact. Her sharp inhale (dismay?) was hard to miss, and it did things to the anger that was lurking angrily in his gut. _Damnit_. For a moment, he considered that she might bolt for it; but no, Annie wasn't that kind of girl. In the next moment, he could pretty much hear her glare, feel it prickling the hairs on his neck as she shifted a little in her seat. "You wanna be pot or kettle?" She shot back, voice icy with restrained anger. If he hadn't been pretty much pissed, he might have found her passable imitation of Joan's demeanor amusing. Or endearing. One.

Apparently, though, she wasn't done. "Because I just spent two hours tracking you down, and my feet hurt, and some _bitch_ gave me a ticket when I parked outside of your place for the third time and you weren't answering your phone. I was _going_ to apologize, go home, and probably fall asleep in the tub; not walk here from your place, Auggie!" Still staring towards the old record machine, he nonetheless heard every word of her rant very well; not that it did him much good. How was he supposed to respond to that? Did she expect him to apologize? Because he wasn't. He wasn't even sure what she was ranting about, other than that he'd turned off his phone rather than have Joan wind herself up and call him after she'd gone home and had time to think about just how badly he'd pissed her off. He was pretty sure that she would, too, professional or not. Slowly, he turned to face Annie's seat, automatically adjusting his gaze to as near match eye contact as he could. Still, finding something to say wasn't exactly high on his list of priorities.

That seemed to throw his friend off. Her annoyance was pretty clear, sharp, short breaths, no movement beyond the occasional jerky motion that made her sound a little deranged. Finally, though, she inhaled deeply through her nose and blew it out considerably less calmly, apparently in an attempt to calm herself down. Distantly, he kept his automatic ideas on giving in, letting go and making a joke to ease her tension go - he was right. He _knew_ it. "What do you want from me, Aug? I thought I had it, I...I did what was right. That guy was dangerous!" Apparently cottoning on to the fact that she'd arrived, he could hear the shuff-clop of the owner's boots as he ambled over to take her order. Rather than engage Leonard, much as he liked him, in conversation, he waved at his beer and held up two fingers. The footsteps retreated.

Never mind the beer trying to keep his mind level and calm, the anger was winning out. They'd been through and around this part of the conversation before; after he'd let his temper slip for a fraction of a second she'd run out of his office. Irritatingly, he'd felt guilty for _that_ even in the midst of knowing he was one hundred percent right. With even the slightest buzz, keeping it in check wasn't the easiest; he surprised himself, jabbing his finger on the table and glaring across it at Annie. "You were _wrong_." He hissed, glaring just in case she got the idea to interrupt him. Never mind that he wasn't actually sure what his point_ was_, what he hadn't already covered.

"Escher? She moved back here to be with her husband. He's got cancer. Donaldson's kid sister is on Katia's soccer team. Cute kid. I bet you know her. _I almost got them killed._" Lifting hands to scrub at his face, he sighed, staring resolutely into nothing at all. No, informing her of _his_ failings wasn't going to help anything. Actually, he was pretty sure that he wasn't helping things at all; not when his tablemate suddenly went silent. Worse, apparently she took his words to heart, or maybe (if he sent the guilt into compartmentalized pockets in the back of his mind) she was too tired, since her stifled breaths were audible even over the moderately loud sound system.

He'd made her cry. The anger - fear - in his gut was extinguished in a cloud of _unhappy_; maybe it was the hour, maybe the beer, but he was suddenly pretty sure that he was a horrible person. Blinking dazedly against the confusing turmoil of emotions, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, sighing through his nose. Damnit. "Hey," Awkwardly, he fought for something to say, definitely not panicking even a little when he realized that he didn't know what _to_ say. So, in lieu of anything useful, he sighed and lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Annie." And he _was_, honestly he was. Making her cry was pretty much at the bottom of things he ever wanted to do. No! Exactly the opposite. His issues with being able to rationalize somebody else's (_two_ somebody else's) lives for one who meant - something - to him were his own. They weren't hers.

Noting that the beers hadn't come, and silently thanking Len's attention to detail and taste for discretion, he stood. "Alright. C'mon." Trusting the barkeep to deduct tonight's spendage from his account, he waited impatiently for Annie to stand. At least she didn't resist, and stood quickly, taking his arm gingerly. Waiting outside for a cab took a minute, a minute that stretched halfway into eternity for her continued subdued silence; fervently, he hoped that she was only tired.

She didn't protest when he gave the cabbie her address, either. She didn't even question it, for which he was thankful. Explaining that he wasn't even going to give her the chance to drive, tonight, probably wouldn't go over very well. It was approaching three AM; he was angry, worried, and really just wanted to be somewhere where he could crash for the night once he was done...explaining? No. Explaining wasn't going to get anybody anywhere. Just what did he hope to accomplish? Winging it wasn't really his favorite thing in the world to do. He was good at it, in the field, when he had to be. This, though? No. Not so much.

Actually, he wasn't even sure what _this_ was, and _thinking_ about it was only frustrating. Instead of thinking, he let his head fall back against the cab's seat, staring blankly into the same blackness that permeated everything. At least he didn't have to see the ceiling of the cab. Fighting a smirk, he passed the rest of the ride thinking about exactly nothing except the feasibility of a perfect trombone solo. It was more entertaining than being angry, at least.

Surprisingly enough, after he paid the cab driver and shooed his friend from the vehicle, she seemed...not angry? Visual cues would have been a fairly large help, but her grip on his arm was softer, and she didn't jerk or walk too fast as they strolled up the path. When she spoke, she sounded tired, but definitely not angry. "Take the couch. Dani's making pancakes at o-dark-thirty. Don't be surprised when she knocks on the door." There was a smile in there, somewhere, and even in the lingering confusion, he smiled in return; it was as automatic as accepting her lead. He might not have really understood why they were smiling, but as he trudged tiredly up the guest house's stairs, he considered that just now he really didn't care. Her brain probably worked faster than his did, anyways, so if she was amused by something it was probably reasonable.

"Pancakes, o-dark-thirty. Gotcha." He nodded, pausing at the threshold of the door to draw up the mental map of the room. It only took a moment, but grabbing his cane out of his bag seemed like way too much work for the task of making it twenty steps across a room to the couch. Annie buzzed off to one direction, he took the other, and after a little bit of tricky navigating around what he was pretty sure was the old cat who lived with Annie, he eventually did make it to the couch. Unsure as to whether or not the silence was comfortable, Auggie nonetheless folded himself onto the couch with a sigh, closing his eyes in bliss. It was soft. It had pillows. It had - something soft hit him in the face, and after the immediate surprise, he smiled. It had a blanket. Since he'd slept in many things worse than jeans and a sweater, he didn't bother to divest himself of any of it.

It was possible that they'd resume their - argument? - in the morning. It was also possible that aliens would take over DC before morning, or the robot overlords would rise up and he'd be dead. Instead of worrying about that, he made himself comfortable, and was fast asleep before he could worry about much of anything.

. . . . . . .

Among the many downfalls of a long, long day that doesn't end until three AM in the household of an early bird is that, well, early birds rise early. Apparently, even early birds who were also up until the wee hours of the morning. The blare of a trumpet wasn't the easiest thing to wake up to, but Annie somehow managed to not leap out of bed at the sound, instead burrowing her head a little further into her mass of pillows to keep out the pale sunlight streaming in through the window and the sudden intrusion of music from her CD player. Distantly, she was aware of the fact that Danielle was in the guest house, and was talking to - well, she hoped it was Auggie - somebody, but honestly, sleep sounded much, much more important.

She'd managed to drift back into the hazy land between sleep and awareness (maple syrup scented awareness) when the noise level dropped slightly. Instinctively, she shook off a little of the haze, listening quietly for a moment to determine the source - only to find, moments later, the noises much closer to her. Vaguely, she had to smile; it was a CD she and Aug had argued over not long ago, a mix bag of more popular Jazz songs. Honestly, she couldn't remember what they'd been arguing about then, but it seemed funny now.

"_It's a Barnum and Bailey world,_" It was especially funny when Aug tried to hit that note. Yeah, no, that wasn't going to work. Smiling, she shifted a little, peeking out from under her pillow. "_Just as phony as it can be,_" He was doing something at her desk, bustling around what appeared to be a heaping plate of pancakes. Just how the hell had Dani known to cook for two? Honestly, sometimes she worried that her sibling had ESP or something. "_But it wouldn't be make-believe if you believed in me..._"

Never mind that Auggie couldn't actually _see_ her, she still snapped her eyes shut when he turned and started towards the bed, still singing cheerfully. A moment later, the bed depressed, and the jig was up. "Scoot, Walker. You don't have enough chairs, or plates, and your day is _busy_." Obligingly, she scooted, not really relishing the lack of the nice warm burrow she'd made; on the upside, Aug replaced it a little. Eventually working her eyes open all the way, she eyed her friend with wary amusement. "Ugh, Aug, p'down the plate if you're going to go to sleep. S'too early to be awake. It's _Saturday_." The last wasn't exactly a gentle reminder, but well, it couldn't be past eight. No way it was time to be awake. She didn't give a rat's ass whether or not somebody tried to steal her bed, she was going back to sleep. As it turns out, getting tackled by a big sweaty guy who looks like a Sumo wrestler hurts a lot worse the next day. So yeah, she wasn't feeling getting up.

When the plate of pancakes was lowered in front of her nose, though, she was forced to open her eyes. Blueberry. Blueberry pancakes. ...hell. They smelled good. Her stomach growled plaintively. Without really meaning to, she reached for one of the forks and sheared off a giant bite of the syrup-smothered flapjacks, popping it into her mouth with a sleepy, contented sigh. "Damnit Auggie." Might not have actually sounded like anything around the mouthful of food, but either way it didn't seem to affect her friend. A glance up at him showed dark circles and haggard scruff, but a wide smirk all the same. "Asshat." Even that didn't seem to deter him, as he took a bite for himself and nodded agreeably. Suddenly too hungry to care whether or not she was going to kick his ass for awakening her, she set to the task of devouring the pancakes with a fury.

"_Apparently_, you're going to the zoo with Chloe and Katia this morning to see the baby giraffe. Guess who got an invite?" Annie didn't need to look up to see the excited kid face her handler wore; though why, she didn't know. Even she wasn't all that excited. Screaming kids and all sorts of exotic poop smells? Yeah, exciting. Exciting like a root canal, or spending the day...surrounded by loud noises. Because that was what it was. "Does that mean I can stay here?" She wondered, amused, as she sleepily munched on the delicious fluffy discs of dough. Auggie huffed out an amused chuckle, deftly snatching a bite before she could get to it. "Nope. You work there, remember?"

Damn him to burning hell.

The temptation to whine and flail her arms like a five-year-old was almost overwhelming. Instead, she mutinously stole a slice of turkey bacon, gnashed it with a vengeance. And maybe shooting a whiny, "So does this mean you agree that I was right?" in retaliation wasn't the most mature response, but come on. She wasn't twenty any more, and five hours of sleep just wasn't going to cut it. Especially not when yesterday started trickling back to her, between the aches and pains and the - shame? sad? - emotional turmoil of fighting with her best friend. For a moment, next to her, he froze; all of his muscles tightened, and yeah, maybe that hadn't been the best of ideas. Miraculously, though, what little sleep he could have gotten had apparently restored Auggie's cool.

"Nope." Again, cheerful, he stabbed a chunk of flapjack and devoured it. "It means we've reached an impasse." With supreme calm, he spoke with as much dignity as could be managed around a bite of pancake. From her very comfortable position tucked against his side, Annie didn't bother to look up again, knowing she wouldn't be able to read much from his expression. He was quiet for a minute, apparently thinking as he downed another half of a pancake and studiously ignored the bacon he had to know was there. "Look, you're good. Your gut is good. You're smart. You can pass for a call girl," Undaunted by her kick to the shin, he continued. "I like you, Walker. So when you purposefully dare some idiot to kill you, call me a caveman, I just don't like it." His usual sarcasm might have cut a lesser person, but while Auggie Anderson might have been able to find her in a crowded room, Annie Walker could _usually_ see right to the point of his snark and grumbling. A memory - a while ago - _My problem is I like you. So I'm always going to try and cover for you...which I now see is going to lead me straight to potential treason._

Epiphanies don't always strike you like lightning to the back of the head; no, sometimes it settles like molasses, like that giant flood of goop up in Bean Town a hundred years ago. Inescapable, it devours you, and you're left wondering just what the Hell was so different a minute ago that you _feel_ so different now. "Yeah, Aug." Annie sighed, listing sideways to rest her head on his shoulder. Apparently, though, fleeting epiphany just wasn't enough to keep her awake - she was almost instantly asleep. Again.

. . . . . . . .

He was going to ask, he really was, what was going on in her bed-headed head-brain-space. The urge to smile like an idiot, or do something stupid, was there - but after a moment, when Annie didn't continue, Auggie tilted his head curiously. "Well?" He ventured, curious now as to what had her so quiet. His hope, of course, was that she was going to declare herself done with being an idiot. That she wasn't going to put him back on Joan's shit list any time soon, or get either of them killed. Logically, though, he knew that that wasn't coming. She was too damn stubborn. So what was it?

_Sssnnnngh._

Was that even a legal response in the grand scheme of answers to serious questions? Really? She was snoring? Amusement, affection, and exasperation warred as Auggie carefully shifted just far enough to deposit the plate on the bedside table. Then, he settled himself right back down, fishing around until he found the quilt and pulled it up over the both of them. The guest house was a little chilly, and even with half a stack of pancakes warming his gut, the extra warmth wasn't going to kill either of them. Smirking, he wiggled until he was comfortable, careful not to awaken Annie. When life hands you a snoring female friend, after all, you make the best of it! He'd already told Danielle that Annie would be late to the zoo, anyways; which he would have informed her of eventually, if she hadn't passed right back out on him. Letting her go somewhere before she was ready to be awake - whether or not she deserved the exhaustion - made him uncomfortable. He wasn't really going to think on why.

Later, he could tease her. Later, he really would figure out what was going on inside that head of hers. Right now, though, he was...he was going to catch up on all the sleep that he'd missed out on. Talented enough to manfully fight through sleep deprivation or not, the current situation warranted sleep. It warranted _good_ sleep, too, he considered as he closed his eyes and let the usual fleeting phantasms of color and light take over.

Annie couldn't even blame _him_ for how he'd come across it, later. After all, he didn't want to wake her up, climbing out of her bed. Stepping on the cat. Blaring Mingus when Louis and Ella didn't work to wake her up. Plus, comfortable couch or not, this was _way_ more comfortable.


	9. Enterprising

A/N: ...would you like some crack? Well, uh, have at it. This is chock full of silliness. And a little bit of lunacy. Sorry for the lack of updates here and on my new story; this week has been hellish, and not good for the muse. I hope to fix that very soon! This may be from a few days ago, but it was just cracky and funny enough to post before I work on today's word. "Astringent" is awesome.

Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affairs, guys. Or a beta.

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Enterprising

1. Having or showing initiative and resourcefulness.

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The stares settled somewhere between making her want to scream or sashay like she owned the headquarters. They followed her every move, startled, and actually - kind of funny. They all pretty much looked like they'd been bashed over the head, after all, and...well, she was trying to look on the bright side of life. It was all she could do to not burst into tears, after all, and a little bit of amusement at others' expense wasn't so bad, was it?

Apparently the only person in the building who didn't really care, when she fell in step with Reva Kline outside of the Starbucks, the other agent didn't even glance in her direction for more than the normal amount of time. "Annie," Her former handler offered brightly, sounding more upbeat than she'd been for most of the time she was with the DPD. "The choice of a woman shaving her head is unreasonably taboo; it is refreshing to see your choice in styling." Well, apparently she wasn't so very disinterested. Annie winced. Apparently not noticing, Reva ordered straight coffee, then turned back to her, smiling a genuine smile. "Uh," Annie stalled, reaching up a hand to unhappily scruff at her still-very-much-bald head. "Yeah. Taboo. Thanks, Reva."

Honestly, she really _did_ try to sound grateful. It was just slightly difficult, with her mass amounts of discomfort with the situation. Still mostly oblivious, though, the techie beamed. "You are welcome. Have a pleasant day, Annie. Give Joan my best." So saying, the other agent breezed off; distantly, Annie wondered how much coffee she'd already downed. Quickly ordering coffee for she and Aug, she tried to re-psych herself up, but failed - the burst of enthusiasm for messing with the heads of her coworkers had been short-lived. Now, she felt naked, strange and too-light once more.

It wasn't every day that some enterprising kidnapper with a hair fetish steals yours, after all.

Joan had only been concerned about the intel he had on the Pentagon's security system.

Didn't the CIA screen their marks for weird fetishes? Shouldn't she have been warned? A "Oh, hey, Annie, the guy's a few eggs short of a cake and he likes to make wigs out of real hair. Don't worry, he's not Buffalo Bill, he just wants your hair." wouldn't have been so hard, would it?

Apparently not.

Tempted as she was to put tabasco sauce or ex-lax in Auggie's coffee for not warning her - hey, he knew the guy's preference in underwear, she wasn't being unreasonable - she refrained. If nothing else, he usually won the war of who could do the most disgusting thing to the others' coffee, so she wasn't even going to bother. Also, she was already moping her way on up to the DPD, wearing her best put-upon expression and trying to gauge how bad an idea it would be to take a sip of her coffee. She needed the boost.

It was a bad idea, as such things generally were, and by the time she reached the glass doors of her department she had just barely managed to stop coughing and hacking against a scalded throat and mouth. Studiously, the other agents avoided looking at her directly, like she was Medusa or might explode if they did; it was marginally better than the stares of the rest of the building. Huffily, she stopped by her desk, then definitely-did-not stomp over to Auggie's office, extra-tall heels lashing at the carpet as she went. Sure, she very nearly snapped an ankle swinging around the corner into the airy room, but they _did_ make her feel tall and pretty, in spite of the bad hair day (yeah, she went there). Before she even got re-balanced from her almost fall, Auggie was standing, eyes wide, hands held placatingly in front of him.

She didn't even have time to ask how the hell he'd known she was even there before he'd grabbed a giant bag with some department store's logo on it and held it out, a very obvious peace offering.

"Look, Annie, I didn't know I'm so sorry you look great do you want some cake?" The statement/question/plea was slightly less than coherent, and Annie blinked, thrown by the lack of proper script. He was supposed to somehow make her apologize for worrying _him_ through the twelve-hour ordeal, and she was supposed to leave the coffee, and maybe go ask Joan how sending her hairy friend to Timbuktu in a milk crate was going. So she really couldn't be blamed for her dazed "Buh?" noise, as she pulled up short, blinking vaguely at the apologetic apparition before her.

Humility didn't suit Auggie. Not a bit. He looked like somebody was gnawing on his spleen. Then again, the giant brown eyes and messy hair were kind of adorable. Apparently still waiting for her answer, he flipped open the lid of a white box next to him; brightly, the small round cake proclaimed _Happy Birthday!_ and suddenly it was too funny.

So she giggled.

Apparently, all-knowing Aug had immediately caught why she was laughing, since he glanced towards the cake with chagrin. "Oh, come on; it's your favorite, and they couldn't write "Sorry about your hair" on it." A semblance of his usual smirk ghosted at the corners of his lips. She giggled some more, shaking her head and stalking forward to set the coffee cup on the table and eye her cake with curiosity. Well, it _did_ look delicious. "Only if you share it with me." She injected, and Aug grinned, falling back into his seat and cautiously swinging a hand out to reach the coffee. Apparently, the short time it had taken her to finish walking up had been all the time the liquid happiness had needed to cool off sufficiently, and he took a sip, eyes closing in bliss before he produced a pair of plastic sporks from the bag. "Of course."

Since Joan hadn't descended on them in a righteous fury yet, and she was pretty sure all she was doing today was at least half a ton of paperwork, so she took her time. Auggie was scheduled to work with Agent Khan after lunch, but well, it wasn't lunch yet. After devouring what had to be two normal pieces of consolation cake and downing her entire coffee - she actually felt much better. So she grinned, leaning back in her chair and lazily spinning it in a circle. "So what's in the bag? If you say those hair cut magazines they have in salons, I _will_ impale you on this spork. Try me." Waving it for good measure, Annie grinned, matching her handler's for mischief as he waggled his eyebrows at her and leaned over to grab the nearly-forgotten bag.

"No! Not quite. I just, well. I felt bad. So I, uh, I begged Stu to take me shopping for something to help. We ended up at Madame Violet's." It took a minute, for the honest-to-god-blush that he was now rocking to connect with a reason in her brain.

But when it did, it was awesome.

"Oh my god!" She definitely didn't squeal, clapping a hand over her mouth to stay the peal of laughter that had threatened to go barking out into the office. As it was, the strangled sound she let out was probably just as bad, but even more funny was that her handler's blush ratcheted up. She _had_ to find a way to make that happen more often, because - really. She just did.

"That's that naughty naughty nightclothes shop downtown, isn't it?" Annie demanded, regarding the techie with wide eyes and still more giggles only barely withheld. Oh, she was never, _never_ going to let him live this down. Not on his life. "Auggie, what did you think would cheer me up? Edible -" Apparently, he had hit critical mass for blush, since the tech ops agent sprang forward to clap a hand over her mouth and glance wildly around, eyes wide. "For the love of - _the walls have ears, Annie_!" He gave a garbled sound that could have been a high-pitched bark of laughter or a frustrated squeakbabble, but she shook with silent laughter all the same, not really sure what else to do. Sometimes, a man's idea of cheering up was just...well, strange.

Eventually, apparently deciding that she wasn't about to start shouting about undies, Aug withdrew, eyes narrowed. She could pretty much see the gears turning in his head; he knew he had to unveil the gift quickly or she was going to start again. Still, when his hand dived into the bag and came up with a mangled mass of hair - Annie wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

Neither seemed appropriate. So she stared.

His adam's apple worked nervously, as he flailed the handful of varied-color hair, then divided it into two masses; at which point it became more clear. Wigs? He'd...bought wigs? Oh, that was even better. She gaped. "Stu, uh, he helped me pick them out. I'm pretty sure he knocked over a display next to it; never did tell me what they were. We - we got kicked out after that, but not before I got these babies. They're hot, right?" Somehow, he managed to pull on a big, wolfish smirk.

Still, he looked a little bit like he wanted to disappear into the floor. The timidity, Annie decided, was adorable.

...as much as she wanted to prolong the blushes and stammering, she had to ask, "_Why_ is one purple, Auggie? It's like, the color of Prince's Purple Rain coat." Plucking that one from his grasp, she eyed the hideous thing, both amazed and horrified by the fact that he thought she might wear it. Maybe on one of her drunken escapades in Fiji, when she'd actually dyed her hair blue because she spent the week convinced that she was the embodiment of the great Sea Goddess, but...okay, not since then. First, his eyebrows drew in over his eyes, confusion taking the place of sheepish mischief; but it was gone in a flash of amusement, as he glared distantly towards one of the office's doors.

"Stu." That was all he really needed to say. It _would_ be her second-favorite techie who tried to put her in an orchid-colored wig. "Mmm...no. No, you're not a purple. I got, uh," Aug's eyes narrowed as he fiddled with the remaining wigs, finally drawing out a strawberry blonde one that wasn't _too_ far from her actual color, just shorter and more fluffy-styled. "This one for you. Thought you might like it. You can try it out, tonight at Allen's. Or you could wear the other and _really_ confuse the bartender."

As she absently sporked another chunk of delicious cake, Annie smiled and shook her head, no longer even slightly amazed that she was feeling better again. Sure, wigs were itchy and weird and she was pretty sure she'd just rather be bald...but it was the thought that counted, and rolling with life's punches, enjoying the outcome of everything, was something she was learning to be good at. So she grinned, leaning conspiratorially forward and plopping the purple one on her coworker's head. "You're on. Except _you're_ wearing the purple one." He matched her grin, waggled his eyebrows and rocked the purple wig; and all, once more, was right with the world. Hair or no hair.


	10. Astringent

A/N: I'm working on Walk the Line, promise! This just popped into my head, after I finished up the Word from a few days ago and scanned today's and I couldn't let it go. ;) I don't know, I like snappy, snarly Auggie. Call me crazy. I always go for the grumpy-heart-of-gold types. Also, I just like the word Astringent. It's fun to say. Try it! This is madly short, but it was mostly an afterthought, a throwaway scene that I kind of felt was fun. Not quite as fun as the last, cracky chapter, but still! I hope you enjoy. As always, please, please don't hesitate if you think any characterization or anything is off - tell me!

Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affairs, and this is unbeta'd.

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Astringent

1. Sharply incisive; pungent.

2. _Medicine/Medical. _ Contracting; constrictive; styptic.

3. Harshly biting; caustic: his astringent criticism.

4. Stern or severe; austere.

. . . . . . . .

"_If you would pull your head out of your ass, Jenkins, you'd probably find that you could determine how to go forward on your own! Or do you need me to hold your hand? Because I'm a little busy, here_!"

Even a thousand miles away, and holed up in a ratty safehouse somewhere in Turkey, Annie could easily discern Auggie's favorite pissed off tirade voice from the sarcastic banter they'd been indulging in a moment ago under the guise of taking care of the business of checking in. Rolling her eyes skyward, she set the phone between her shoulder and ear, shimmying out of her muddy khakis and into a pair of flannel pants for the evening and waiting out his rant at poor Jenkins. Really, though, the rookie needed to learn to stand on his own. Even _she_ didn't need that kind of hand-holding.

"_This is useless to me. Do you know why, Jenkins?_" He waited, and she set to brushing her teeth, not really caring if he heard the telltale swishy noises. "_One, it's paper. Do you see me reading handwriting? Do you think I'm magical? Two, will you __**please**__ stop tapping your foot? I'm trying to focus. Go. Take this to Paulette. If he doesn't throw you out on your ass, save it to a disk and bring it to me in the morning._" Rinsing with a swish of mouthwash, she winced against the astringent sting, then wiped her mouth on her flannel top's sleeve and wandered back into the main room of the safehouse. It contained a couch, a ratty chair, and a dingy kitchenette. There was no bed, no place to store her clothes, and there wasn't any source of entertainment other than her handler on the other end of the phone. He was amusing enough, though, so she threw herself onto the threadbare green couch and smiled into space.

There was a deep breath on the other end of the line, before Auggie apparently came back to her, sounding cheerful once more. "_Sorry, Walker. Would you believe that Jenkins went behind my back to ask whether or not he should follow an order of mine? He almost got Blaire killed, today. Lucky that Blaire is an old hat and told him where he could shove his instructions._" Pleasantly, he sniped, and she could pretty much see her friend lean back in his chair, hands flailing about in exasperation. The memory of home brought a smile to her face, never mind the current lack of comfort.

"I believe it." She remarked placidly, used to the caustic tone, even though they couldn't exactly come out and say what was going on; a secured line only went so far. "Down, Cujo. I can't believe you sent me to BFE, Turkey, a week before Easter. Do you know how hard it'll be to convince Dani that I still love the girls if I'm not home before then? Or if I come back looking like tenderized rabbit?" Distraction: It almost always worked with Aug. Get him working on trying to fix something, and you could usually keep him from murdering somebody in cold blood.

For a moment, she was worried that it might not work. Then he sighed, quietly, and when she strained her ears she could hear his chair squeak as he leaned forward. Annie smiled, imagining her tech ops agent with his elbows on his knees, staring thoughtfully into space until he discerned some sort of solution. "_Well_," Finally, he chuckled, soft and amused - the one she was pretty sure only she got out of him. Honestly, she wasn't sure why he brought out that for her; she could take the bickering. "_You could always hitchhike home. I doubt you'd make friends with that one, though_." The sarcasm was still there, lurking in the edges of his tone, but she knew he was smiling. So she rolled her eyes, snoring and burrowing a little into the couch. She hadn't eaten on her way in, too concerned about not being tailed, but now that was seeming like a bit of a mistake. Still...moving from the couch was even more of one, as far as she was concerned. It was sometime in the afternoon here, but she'd flown straight through the night at home. Aug might have been bright eyed and bushytailed, but she was definitely feeling the need for sleep.

Only when he murmured an "_Annie? You good?_", voice growing sharper with concern, did she realize that she'd very nearly drifted off. What was she, a teenager again, falling asleep talking on the phone with her BFF (who, as it turned out, had been buried just like every other BFF in the back yard)? She almost snickered at the thought, propping herself up a little more and heaving a sigh. "M'fine, Aug. Sleepy. You're sounding way too perky. Think they'd be too pissed if I napped until tomorrow morning?" She wondered. Never mind that tomorrow morning was at least twelve hours away, she was pretty sure she could sleep at least that long. A chuckle drifted from the other line, and she let her head fall sideways at the sound, smiling unconsciously. "_Go ahead. We're set for 0800 local, at the local cafe. Don't worry, there's only one. You're meeting an old friend of mine. When you're done, Annie, ask him to show you the meteorite crater. He'll know what you're talking about._"

The wistful sound to his voice almost broke her heart - not pity, never pity, but she wasn't a monster. For all that she knew that her friend was perfectly competent, capable, and she generally didn't even care that he wasn't able to see...well, she knew that it was hard. Still, he mostly sounded excited, so she took that and ran. "Ooh, meteorite? Nice. Okay. I'll get it done, and please, please make sure I have a flight home before Easter. Danielle _will_ kill me, and you too, if she ever sees you again." One day, she would have to explain that one, but now wasn't that one. She was starting to drift off again, sleepy and content, somewhat sure that this time she was going to go home in one piece. Of course, that confidence was never good, but she could afford it.

Auggie, after all, for all of his - charms - was always going to get her home. "_Gotcha. Stay safe, Annie._" She grinned, shaking her head in mild amusement; which only ratcheted up at the bellow that sounded before he disconnected the call.

"_JENKINS! Are you a complete idiot? Did you fall out of bed and decide that today was the day - the day you decided to drop all pretense of sanity and -_-"

Yeah, she was glad that she was on August Anderson's good side. The other options usually didn't end well for the recipient. Maybe she ought to have a talk with Jenkins, so the poor guy didn't develop any complexes before he washed out.

Then again, she was just a little too sleepy to formulate complex plans right now. So she hit 'end' and let her head flop back against the tatty back cushion - and was immediately asleep.


	11. Eulogy

A/N: I almost didn't post this, but it's here, and it has been for days, so...eh. There's no use putting it to waste, even if it is a little bit too close to me for my tastes in sharing. I was actually looking at the Words, the other day, for something that might cheer me up and distract me from the news that a close friend had passed...and was inexplicably enraged when "Eulogy" was one of them. Not sure why, but the next day I wrote this. Vaguely mentioned character death, no real point to it except that I kind of like the writing itself. This week has been hectic; I'm hoping to have the current chapter of Walk the Line up tonight, though.

Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affairs. This is unbeta'd.

. . . . . . . .

Eulogy

1. A commendatory oration or writing especially in honor of one deceased

. . . . . . . .

The warmth of an early autumn night belied the heavy clouds hovering overhead; preparing, Joan was sure, to let loose a torrent of rain the moment she let her guard down and considered that she might make it to her destination on time. It was rare - not to mention against a few rules, but she _made_ the rules - for her to seek an operative out in their own home, but tonight's situation was not normal. At least the home she sought was not one also inhabited by civilians: she knew Walker had been holed up in her safe house since the incident.

Of course she knew where the safe house was. What kind of spy would she be if she wasn't aware of every one of them that her operatives possessed? It was located downtown, so she had parked her car, and decided to take the walk through the various bars and shops to clear her mind.

She wasn't inhuman. Her mind was still reeling from the events of the last six weeks, and she wasn't ashamed to admit that to certain individuals whose personal clearance was high enough. Which, she mused as she passed one closed-for-the-night Mexican food establishment already decked out with pumpkins and hay, was why she was out wandering the streets of DC unaccompanied on a mission of...what, exactly? Mercy? Pity?

Friendship?

The last was probably the closest to the truth. More closely, though, because she knew her young protege was experiencing the same turmoil as she was. Her younger protege was also considerably less prone to compartmentalizing, which was why she had given the girl six weeks of leave. She had, of course, kept a close eye on Walker during her sabbatical from the CIA. She had even had eyes on the younger agent when she was nearly mugged in Cancun; but as it turned out, Walker had learned a thing or two from Anderson. Joan wouldn't admit it to many, but she was proud of Annie. She had overcome much, in her career and in her personal life, to become the person who she was slowly becoming.

If she survived this.

If she did, she was well on her way to becoming one of the top agents in the department.

That 'if' was a rather strong one, however. As much as Joan knew that they had endeavored to show the young agent that being a bleeding heart wasn't the easiest way to be in the CIA - well, Annie was soft. In this instance, however...well, she was, too. Case in point: the way something in her chest twisted, her heart leaping into her throat and creating a blockage that threatened to force up some sort of outward sign of grief when she rounded the corner and found herself standing across the street from the Tavern. Taking a sharp breath through her nose, she stared at the sign for longer than was entirely necessary, stilling the automatic tears that formed uselessly in the brim of her lower eyelid. It wasn't any use; and it wasn't as if she hadn't lost operatives before. She had even lost friends, more than she was strictly happy to consider. She still had her life. She still had her department. Her husband. She was simply over tired; as she had been for weeks, now, constantly somewhere between anger and lingering sorrow.

A shadow moved. Without really realizing it, she shrunk back into the shadow of a short set of stares, eyeing the shape in the shadow of the Tavern's door warily. People strolled sedately down the street, not heeding the heavy certainty of the impending rain or the fact that it was a Thursday night and hardly the time to be out past ten PM. Duly reminded of her trek, she was about to return to her task when the shape across the street resolved itself into a small, frail-looking blonde shadow, one Joan knew was the actual target of this whole walk.

When the shadows congealed, moved to show the reliefs of the upturned face, she was almost stricken by how hollow the younger woman's cheekbones were; how thin, stringy her hair was. Annie was the life of her cadre of agents, the driving force behind a good deal of the DPD's Incidents - but right now she looked like she hadn't slept in a week, or eaten in a few, or showered in...well, far too long. She was also wholly focused, moving only in the occasional sway that Joan knew well (it wasn't drunkenness or gaiety, no, but exhaustion), arms shoved into the pockets of an overly large leather coat in spite of the un-seasonal warmth and humidity in the air.

Lips pressing into a thin line, Joan closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. So. It was as bad as she thought. Glancing both ways across the street, she jay-walked between cars and avoided a speeding cab carefully. Annie didn't acknowledge her, but stared in one of the Tavern's windows, jaw set, looking every bit as lost as she had felt the first time she'd been forced through the experience. Pulling alongside her younger agent, she stood quietly, watching two of the young seventh floor lackeys flirt with the new serving girl. Wilcox held court over the far corner, while several of the agents from the DPD's tech ops department were crammed into a booth.

They were all pointedly avoiding the round tables.

For a while, they stood, absolutely silent in face of the occasional person who entered or exited the tavern, ignoring the passers-by and the surprised looks that were quickly concealed by the in-house spies who noticed her standing outside. She knew from experience that Annie wasn't even with her, was in her own little world, judging by the haunted half-smile that had picked up on her face.

It took her a while to speak, but Joan was patient. She was also out for this specifically: to determine whether or not her agent was well, ultimately for the purpose of putting her back to work.

"Right before he - right before, we came to Allen's." There: the expected confession. Joan shifted slightly on the balls of her feet, turning halfway to focus most of her attention on Annie. "To celebrate. I'd gotten better at lowering my center of balance in a fight, and it seemed like something to celebrate, I guess." The half-smile was still in place, and Joan had to smile, herself. Yes, she was well aware of Anderson's clever ploys of 'celebrating'.

He would have celebrated a rival team winning the Super Bowl if it meant he'd have Annie Walker on his arm for an entire evening.

Annie's smile fell a bit, and she glanced away, up at the sign, eyes wide, lips drawn. Silence lapsed, and the wind picked up, bringing the smell of wet dirt and pavement from somewhere close by. It would be raining, soon. Tempting as it was to hurry Walker, get her to forego lurking here in favor of lurking somewhere more _dry_, she refrained. If the young woman needed somebody to listen to her - and, Joan knew, she did; she'd always had an ear in Anderson - she wasn't going to brush her off. Not tonight. Never mind the churning in her gut that had renewed, or the dawning realization that Annie was _not_ even slightly okay, and was not in any shape to be doing anything. How was she supposed to come around to the idea that the girl had to throw herself back into her work when the deeply-buried mother hen in her was informing her scathingly that this pale wraith, this doppelganger of health and stability, needed not much more than some sedatives and something to eat?

"It's not fair." It was hard to hear the quiet, hopeless murmur against the sudden _sh-sh-sh_ of rain splashing onto the leaves of the tree they stood under. A fat raindrop trailed a cold line down her back. Somewhere across the street, somebody shrieked, then laughed, and Annie blinked owlishly. Honestly, she had no reply to that. Annie didn't seem to require one, anyways, once more ignoring the outside world in favor of staring into the Tavern. The newest tech rookie was staring, wide-eyed, at the new server girl - who was ignoring the charming seventh floor buffoons and very obviously flirting with him. _Well, good_. Nobody was having a good month in the DPD, and Faulkner was getting the brunt of the bad moods. He probably deserved the pick-me-up.

Closing her eyes briefly against the palpable grief issuing from Walker, she rocked onto her heels, letting the unsteadiness that came with that calm the roiling nerves in her stomach, distract her. It was childish, it was probably something her mentor would have sent her for a month in the Van for, but she needed the distraction. Eventually, though, the silence wore thin. "Nothing is." Simply, she responded, staring hard at the table she could remember many nights at - woefully, with her training, she remembered every detail of those nights.

She remembered the number of buttons on each shirt, the state of her coworkers' beards, she even remembered that most nights after Auggie came back from overseas, he'd ordered a strange array of teas and coffees rather than any sort of alcohol. She remembered, specifically, how angry he'd been for years. Of course, she'd been informed candidly by the army doctor that her agent (her friend) would be. That he had every right to be, she knew. Two and a half years ago, however, it had changed abruptly. Even as her own marriage took several hits and she found herself wrapped up in that, suddenly the younger agent who she'd most assuredly not held favor for didn't seem to mind so much that she was focusing on herself. In fact, he had seemed happier than he'd been since the first days she'd known him, when she'd felt so much younger and more impressive, the field agent badass.

It hadn't taken her long to realize why. Honestly, she hadn't been sure how he would react to being forced to take on a rookie - one fresh off the farm, not even graduated, and female to boot. Of course, he'd always had the Midas touch with women, but not the kind who actually _needed_ him. Annie Walker had absolutely charmed her most valued (and most feared) Tech Ops agent with surprising swiftness, though, tamed him into a creature who the rest of his department didn't tiptoe around in fear of being torn apart forcibly. It had been rather impressive, though, and honestly, she should have seen this coming then. If she had - well, it might not have helped, but forewarned is forearmed.

"I expect you back at work on Monday." Knowing just exactly what Anderson would have done to her, had she not steeled herself and decided to brave the explosion to force the lost girl back on track, she lifted her chin in a silent challenge. Annie met her eyes listlessly, her own dull and red. Guilt tightened her throat, but she kept her voice even, calm. "You're not the only one who was effected by August Anderson's death, Annie." Gently, she chided. "I need you in St. Petersburg. Ratel has been keeping ties with the Family, but they don't trust him. They trust _you._" She paused, biting down on her lip, resenting the pained sensation that was creeping back in. She was the head of a major department within the CIA; she oughtn't be close enough to her agents for them to effect her this way when they died.

Rather than explode - honestly, she would have preferred some sort of explosion - the younger woman's eyes filled with tears. In the warm light suffusing from the Tavern and with the rain starting to patter louder on the sidewalk and rooftops around them, it was almost easy to miss, the subtle breaking of what she was sure was a strong girl. Doubt flared briefly (was she doing the right thing?), but she pushed it back, resolute as she gently reached out to grasp Walker's shoulder.

Apparently, the solidarity was appreciated; either that, or Walker was more exhausted than she appeared, since she swayed sideways until their shoulders bumped. The gesture was familiar, and it only took a moment to place - her best agent and her best rookie, constantly performing the same shoulder-to-shoulder dance that she marveled at how neither ever tripped over the other. Once more tamping the grief down, she took in a breath through her nose, letting it out slowly.

Annie froze, briefly, when she threaded her arm through the younger agent's, settling it lightly on the crook of her elbow. One of the tears suddenly lost its' fight with gravity, and tracked down the sunken cheeks of her young companion as she steered her quietly away from the Tavern that they both knew they couldn't yet step foot in. Instead, they strode slowly away from it, neither paying mind the rain that fell steadily on their journey.

"He could hold his liquor, Auggie." She suddenly stated, then blinked, unsure as to why in the name of anything sane that she'd chosen _that_ to eulogize a friend in a moment like this. Annie's head flicked briefly in her direction, shock overcoming sorrow for just long enough for her pale brown eyes to widen. Honestly, Joan was okay with the way the young agent's mouth gaped like a fish. Anything was better than the downtrodden apathy. Even better was the quiet, startled laugh that she'd apparently rustled up. Annie smiled, head ducking, eyes closing briefly as she nodded.

"He sure could." She murmured, lips twisting into a smile that was three parts bitter but one part affectionate. Joan counted that as a win.


	12. Propinquity

A/N: Hoo boy, guys, my muse is SERIOUSLY malfunctioning. I don't want to do anything at all. I had to dig around to like, January for this one, to have any hope of finishing something, while I'm working on TWO other Words AND Walk the Line, and none of those are moving...I'm sorry. I'm really trying, on the muse death! It's just not working very well. Hopefully something'll break soon.

I'm also sorry for the last chapter; I didn't even slightly mean to upset people, bahaha! Um. Yeah. That was my bad. Very sorry for that, but I'm also very glad that it seems to have been liked. Heh. Call me a masochist or...wait, does it make you a sadist when it's not YOUR pain? Ha! Whoops. ;) At any rate, I adore you guys, and I hope that this one makes up for it a little bit. It's fluffy at the end, I swear! And the next one will be even more, because holy argh this wouldn't stop going and I couldn't figure out how to end it without it being a billion words and I've been working on it for SO LONG...so I'm trying to decide which (of conniption, moschate, and adroit) word to use for the follow-up to this. Leaning towards conniption.

Disclaimer: This isn't even slightly mine, and isn't beta-read!

. . . . . . . .

Propinquity

1: nearness of blood : kinship

2: nearness in place or time : proximity

. . . . . . . .

"_Give me something - anything - I'll get y-_"

The world exploded into a technicolor stream of light - pure, vivid, all-consuming; it left no space for thought, no space for sound or sensation or anything else as it tore through her synapses lightning-fast and then dissipated, leaving a hazing halo of pain over everything. Noise returned slowly, at first, the barest tinny hum in the back of her mind while her eyes continued flashing bright lights and hazing most else out of her vision. The rest was pain - all around, everywhere, everything was agony.

Dazed, she reflexively relaxed into whatever state had taken over, not aware of anything outside of the overwhelming pain that had rushed up to fill the void that had been left in the wake of the explosion. For a time (she wouldn't ever know how long; it could have been seconds, or hours), she reeled, confused by the jumble of sensory overload.

_Thump. Thumpthump. Thump._

Her heart was beating?

She was alive.

She was _alive_! Joy was enough, for just a moment, to clear the rending agony: but it was quick to return twofold, as she made some small movement or other. This time, she didn't think, didn't hesitate, she just screamed, screamed almost loudly and stridently enough to express just exactly how she felt. Fresh agony took over, but now it was new, twisting. It seared down her throat and into her torso, lighting up all sorts of agony that, now, only spurred her to action.

Unfortunately, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and by the time she managed to lurch to her feet, screaming wasn't even an option anymore. Instead, she was reminded that something had exploded, and now her eyesight was interrupted, and she couldn't even hear anything. Shadows and flares of vivid white danced for dominance across her vision as she cast a frantic glance about, fingers tightening on the remnants of what she was pretty sure was the desk she'd been hiding behind. Had the desk saved her? Something was burning, nearby, hot and disrupting the air around her confusingly with actual smoke to parry with the imagined smoke clouding her vision. Hopefully that wasn't also the desk, because she needed that to stand by. To try and make her decision as to what she was going to do, now. _Something_ needed to be decided, because she was alive! And she intended to stay that way.

Feverish chills danced up and down her spine as she tentatively took a step along the perimeter of her barricade. Nothing collapsed and nothing dangled; neither leg was broken. Something wet dripped down the back of one, but she ignored that as best she could, gently flexing her torso.

She screamed, again, involuntarily. This one was kept down, not as strident or overdone as her first pained cries - her throat hurt weirdly. Annie wasn't so sure that that was the best thing in the world, but it didn't distract her from the strobelight agony of - of - oh, mother of God. With one hand still keeping her upright against the desk, she let the other trail down her side to try and assess the damage. Carefully, she ignored burned clothing and the damp flesh beneath, seeking the real source. It didn't take long to discover. Something jagged was embedded just above her hip; her flashing vision gave her just enough to see that it was a splinter of wood as thick as her wrist. It stuck inwards from by her hipbone, pointing towards her spine.

For the first time, it occurred to her to be terrified; and for a moment, she was. It swept her up in a bubbling swirl of agony and despair, but not for long. No, instead she used it to push her forward, instinctively seeking the quickest route of escape with the least amount of jostling to whatever other injuries she'd managed to accrue in the last few minutes. Slowly, things were making more sense visually, and distantly she was aware of faint noises other than the loud humming/ringing buzzing all around her, but neither were very helpful. She had to get out. Without many coherent thoughts stringing themselves, without even really remembering what had happened or other important details like her middle name and what she'd been doing before she'd gotten blown up, she bolted just as fast as she could hobble from the burning building. With every faint hint more clarity, the need to escape grew; with every sighting of a new flare-up or arc of electricity just inside of her diminished field of vision, her mind's cacophony of terror and urgency grew louder.

Light! Suddenly stricken by a beam of it from - somewhere - she turned into the lifesaving escape route with fervor. Picking her way around debris was harder than simply scrambling over, but even though she wasn't entirely sure of many things, she did know one thing: _don't jostle the giant splinter in your side_. That, and that that rubble had any manner of electrical lines and other hazards just waiting to finish the job of killing her quite dead.

Even as she crossed the threshold, stepped into sunlight and fresh air, a sharp pain shot through the back of her skull and darkness was all she knew, next.

. . . . . . . .

The atmosphere in Joan's car - once, he would have cared what kind of car it was, probably regaled her with its' benefits and drawbacks rather than _think_, rather than let his mind go where it wanted - was decidedly tense. In spite of the quiet, bright accompaniment of Brahms' violin concerto, in spite of Stinson's 'we got her' call and his subsequent dispatching of a medical helicopter to bring Annie to ER One (which, he mused, was probably some of why Joan was _audibly_ seething, over there), and never mind rational reasoning, he could admit to himself that he was not playing with a full deck. He wasn't exactly having vapors or crawling out of his own skull, but August Anderson knew himself well enough to know that he wasn't at one hundred percent. He wasn't going to actually admit that to anybody except maybe Joan, but there was no sense in denying it.

Yeah, working to actually acknowledge his failings was better than flying halfway across the world, anyways. Less expensive. Well - okay, actually, it was probably going to cost a lot for the case of smelly European cheese he'd promised his friend in aerial dispatch, and getting off of Joan's shit list might cost him a limb or two. At least he acknowledged that, though.

Did that actually make it any better?

Maybe not.

The sun was warm through the passenger side window as he let his forehead fall against it, eyes closing. It might have only been lunch, but he was ready to go home and sleep for a year or four. Except his mind was still spinning, still throwing out scenarios for him to work through _just in case_, wouldn't stop calculating outcomes like a squirrel on adderall. Vaguely, the remembered image of skeet shooting in Illinois transposed itself over that of his incipient meltdown - _helicopter goes down in fiery crash PULL! bang! Five percent. Flying paramedics mess up, op (__**Annie**__) dead before they get to the hospital PULL! pow! Eleven percent._ Had he been just a little bit less terrified of those small percentages becoming real ones, he might have found that funny, but just now even a two percent likelihood was just unacceptable.

It was out of his control.

He _hated_ it when things were out of his control. The lack thereof seethed in his gut, roiling and angry, stirring him to give in to the helpless rage, to show it for all the world to see. He'd had enough of that, though. Hell, he'd somehow managed not to fly off of the handle at Richardson, and that wasn't the easiest when your best operative is possibly dead.

Detachment was hard in _most_ cases, honestly, but with Walker - Annie - it was damn near impossible. Where Wilkes or Fisher might have been close, might have had _damn_ good reason to trust him, it wasn't the same. It wasn't like he didn't bring them back every single time. It was just...well, Walker was special. She walked into a room and things started breaking, peoples' triggers for chaos and destruction started ticking towards midnight.

"How did you acquire a medical helicopter while I was using the restroom?"

The question distracted him sufficiently from returning to the whirling agony of _what if-_, and he blinked, thoroughly wishing that he could see Joan's face. She was annoyingly proficient at hiding her vocal emotions; but as he meditated a moment on what exactly to tell her, he picked up other cues. Her breathing was even. The car wasn't jerking about, as they sped towards the hospital. She wasn't drumming her fingers; the one sign of annoyance he could always count on, when it came to him. Maybe she subconsciously used that one for his benefit - he wasn't sure. "Called dispatch." He eventually offered, twisting a little in his seat and hoping that it didn't put his nerves on display. How was he supposed to explain that he hadn't even slightly had a plan when he had called them, and it was luck alone that he'd known the dispatcher? "Ah, it was a friend. Promised her a case of cheese from Europe."

Well, that was, at least, the truth. Dwelling on the wording wasn't possible, however: nerves were starting to eat through his reserves of patience and outward calm. He shifted again, gritting his teeth in hope that that would distract the nerves from one worry to another. Unfortunately, apparently his dental health wasn't very important to his subconscious, since he was very swiftly back to wondering why the _hell_ they weren't going faster.

He didn't have long to wonder on that, either, though; the car slowed significantly, turned several times, then finally stopped. Without stopping to think, he disengaged the seatbelt and leapt from the car, snatching his cane from his pocket and only pausing when he realized that he would probably _not_ pick the right direction for the hospital if he went running off half-cocked. Frustration ramped up swiftly, until Joan's cool hand closed around his arm, and he heard a rare puff of annoyance from his boss. "This way." She grumped, and he had to clamp down a smile - Joan's forms of affection were usually at least half annoyance. So she wasn't _that_ mad at him. Hopefully. He was probably going to need to keep his job, if Annie survived -

Annoyance with himself battled briefly with a surprise bolt of terror, while the fear sped his footsteps until Joan was all but running to keep up and lead him, her heels clicking definitively on the pavement. Once or twice, she jerked him out of the way of something, and he would have fallen on his face, going over a speedbump, had it not been for her steadying him. It seemed like it took at least three miles to get to the doors; but once they were in, memory popped up, and he shook off the lead. "Do your boss thing." He murmured to his companion, then set off purposefully on his own.

He couldn't have her distract him, after all, well-meaning as she might have been. He had a specific destination in mind, and if any of the doctors tried to keep him away from it - well, he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do.

. . . . . . . .

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Gradually aware of the dreaded noise of various machines most likely attached to her in awkward ways, Annie scrunched her eyes shut, prolonging the inevitable moment of full awakening as long as she possibly could. If she could just put it off - if she could somehow manage to not wake up for a while - she wouldn't have to remember how she'd ended up _here_. Here was not somewhere she wanted to be, no matter how she'd actually managed to end up here. That part didn't matter too much.

Even as the beeps sped up automatically as her steady heartbeat started ticking up in strength, something tightened around one of her hands. The sensation was familiar, and she curled towards it; only to hiss a sharp squeak of pain as that resulted in what felt like fire over at least half of her body. Confused, she struggled to open her eyes as footsteps shuffled into the room, muttered something, then the semi-familiar sensation of floating off on a cloud overcame the pain. For a brief moment, she overcame the forces of gravity and exhaustion and opened her eyes; but there was only the impression of near-dark lights and a fuzzy face before exhaustion returned full-force. As soon as she relaxed, most things (including remaining awake) ceased mattering, and she let the cloud take her.

At some point after that interlude, she awoke; cold, shivery, but still floating pleasantly. The pain was there, but she couldn't pinpoint from _where_, exactly, and honestly...she didn't care. Actually, other than the initial bother of it waking her up, she really didn't care that she was cold. Blinking dazedly, she stared at the ceiling tiles directly above her bed, focusing in on one without thinking and absently counting the dots. Were they moving? That couldn't be right. Ceiling tiles' dots didn't move. Did they? She frowned, but as soon as the ire formed, it joined the comfortable bulk of 'things that didn't matter'; which was, actually, a large part of...things. She smiled.

Murmuring a hum of satisfaction, she kept perfectly still, never mind that her pillow was a little lumpy and wrongly-positioned, and the IV in her arm was making its' current positioning kind of uncomfortable. Staring contemplatively at the ceiling seemed like a good idea, anyways, and...she couldn't think of any reason _not_ to.

So she watched the specks on the ceiling tiles dance seductively, and decidedly did not contemplate on the sanity of that.

"Annie?" It took a moment, but the voice in her ear was the same that always was, but - surely she didn't have her earpiece in? She was in _some_ sort of hospital. She knew that much. "Auggie." Responding quietly, just in case the voice wasn't a figment of her drugged imagination, she smiled, suddenly happy that she could feel _something_ that wasn't disinterest or confusion. "Where are you?" Curiosity dragged itself out of the purgatory of most emotions, and her smile grew at the ghost of a chuckle that the question garnered. "Your eleven, Annie. They gave you more morphine after you woke up earlier." Well, she knew the last part, but the first - it seemed to take a monumental effort to turn her head to the side. When she did, though, Aug was right: he was right there. Well. That was interesting. "You're like a ninja." She informed him, calmly.

Resting her head at the right angle to keep an eye on Auggie - in case he decided to phase out again, of course - she watched his face contort briefly into surprised amusement. Then, he smiled sheepishly, shaking his head. His hair (detachedly, she observed that it was kind of stringy; so it actually did require upkeep? Why wasn't he?) bounced with the motion, and she was very briefly distracted by the way it flounced. Then he began speaking again, and she zeroed in on his mouth, absolutely fascinated by the way it formed words. "Alright, champ, easy." He grinned, and it transformed the odd scruff he was wearing into something less than messy and lumberjack-y. "Good to know you're feeling better. Hope you don't have any plans for the next week, though, 'cause you're not gettin' off this bed." With sincerity and surety, he spoke, and Annie had no real reason to doubt him. Auggie was mostly right. So she hummed her agreement; anyways, she didn't feel like moving. It seemed like a bad idea, and she liked to avoid those.

After a while, she sighed, shifting a little to the side, away from the loud machines and towards the other side of the bed, where Aug sat. The pain returned, but just as quickly as it popped up it was whisked away on the fluffy cloud of nothing-ness. "What the hell happened?" It took a healthy amount of curiosity to even form the question, and she frowned vaguely, the realization dawning as soon as she finished asking it. "I got blown up, didn't I?" Indignation was kind of hard to work up, but she managed it anyways, frowning. The frown might have worked itself up into a scowl, but between the fact that the indignation was wearing off swiftly and Auggie's quick grin, it was a little too hard to manage. "You got blown up." He agreed solemnly, expression briefly falling into one she couldn't place before the grin was back; but his eyes were too bright. If she'd been any more sober, she might have called him out on it, but as it was she just watched the show curiously.

"The intel was bad. I don't know who dropped the ball, but they'll be lucky if they survive Joan. She's in rage mode, and Arthur's not far behind. If they survive that..." Fascinated, distantly, Annie watched the way his jaw clenched beneath the way-past-five shadow he was rocking. She frowned. "That doesn't happen." It seemed relevant to point out. After all, they were the CIA. They _were_ the business of intel. It was part of their name!

That did the trick.

Aug's face contorted again, and with curiosity she watched how he quickly tamed his expression into another one of his many nonchalant smiles. "You're a riddle wrapped in mystery, Annie Walker." That, at least, seemed to draw a genuine grin from her handler. He shook his head and shot a disapproving look down at her. Since no shame was forthcoming from the pleasant fog of balmy nothing, she just nodded, content in the knowledge that she _was_. That was okay; as long as she had her de-riddler of a handler, she was fine, right?

Apparently, the good stuff was better than she thought, since the grin - which had slipped, when she didn't speak up - was back on Auggie's face full-force. Well, actually...this time it was kind of off. She couldn't discern how, exactly, but that wasn't surprising. She couldn't have told you how old she was, either. It was just one of those things that wasn't exactly at the front of her mind. Apparently, neither was keeping her thoughts to herself. Either that, or her friend was suddenly psychic. "Yeah. Yeah, Annie." He agreed quietly, and she smiled. Well, at least there was that.

. . . . . . . .

The following week was distinctly _not_ a pleasant one. She'd gotten first-degree burns across most of the front of her body; second where the blast had singed right through her thin shirt. It blistered, then got disgusting, and she was pretty glad that they had told her to lie as still as she could. Apparently, perforating your guts even just a little was very much not a good thing, and they had had to repair that and then stuff her full of antibiotics. Upside, she got to eat all of the jell-o she could ever want after a few days of juices and broths, and she discovered that she had an irrational affection for the ginger ale stuff Aug brought from home after she proclaimed herself done with strawberry and lime.

Honestly, she knew she was lucky. Non-severe (okay, they _felt_ severe, but really, she hadn't had to have any grafts) burns, a giant splinter that _missed_ her left kidney, and bruised ribs weren't that bad. The burns to her throat were decidedly less than comfortable, but they'd stopped worrying about something involving her lungs failing, and her eyelashes would grow back. She was better off than her asset, who'd been crushed by a flying desk, and the member of her rescue team who'd been shot by the guy who'd set the building to go up in the first place. At least Irving was going to be okay. He could probably eat more than jello and juice, too.

Convincing _Auggie_ of the fact that she was fine was another matter entirely. After they'd reduced her morphine a little, she had actually _talked_ to him about what had happened; as much as he'd let her. From what she could discern, he'd pulled a miracle out of nowhere, and had proceeded to break a few laws...well, never mind that they weren't much for laws anyways. When he arrived on her fifth day of convalescence with bloody knuckles, she had politely ignored that except to offer him some of the morphine. Joan had later - much later, when the staff was small and there were no visitors except the stealthy kind - informed her that Auggie had tracked down the poor idiot who'd gotten her intel wrong. She had also informed her that her two weeks of CIA-paid leave would start _after_ the next few weeks of bed rest, and that she was expected to adhere strictly to the rules that the doctors prescribed her.

She was surrounded by mother hens. Three of them. One of them wasn't even female. How did that even happen?

Nevertheless, she was fine. Never mind that, once she got home, her nieces couldn't see how any part of working in a museum could result in their aunt Annie being stuck in bed for weeks. They were easily distracted, unlike Danielle, who added to the mother hen total and nearly toppled it over the edge and into the range of being insane. Well, it might have, had it not been for the creative ways that her sister kept her fed on a liquid diet, and the piles of movies she was provided with. That, at least, she could tolerate.

After three weeks, though, she'd seen _every_ movie in the house, had read her way through three different murder mystery series books, and was starting on her World Book Encyclopedias. She was, of course, going slightly crazy. Anybody would have been, though, had they been subject to two weeks of boring nothingness _after_ a fuzzy week in the hospital!

When, after an entire month of recovery, Auggie showed up with an envelope instead of a movie and pudding, she could have kissed him.

As it was, she nearly threw out her back contorting to hug him from her position on the couch (she was up and walking, but he always got this _look_ on his face when she tried to when he was around, and after a few lectures she'd stopped moving whenever he visited), before she even knew what he brought with him. He grinned, sprawling easily among the debris of her M*A*S*H marathon - it had made her nostalgic, so she may or may not have gone to the store for ice cream - and propping his feet up on the coffee table, the picture of innocence. She was patient for a moment, reclining again and propping her head up on her hand, but when the shit-eating grin remained on his face for just a moment too long, she had to reach out a toe and lazily stab her friend in the chest with it. "Alright, alright, I'll ask. What's in the envelope? Please say work. _Please_."

Begging didn't look good on her, but neither did the fact that she was pale, and getting out-of-shape, and ready to do something other than sit on her ass. Anyways, Auggie grinned, obviously not minding the begging part. "Nope. It's not work." He hummed, leaning back and focusing his eyes innocently on the ceiling. Tempting as it was to pout, Annie refrained, settling for a huff of exasperation. "No?" She drew the word out hopefully, and Aug smiled. After a moment more of his innocent charade, he leaned forward, deftly plucking the yellow envelope open and tugging out two smaller folders; two very familiar types of folders. Plane tickets? Two? "Jeez, are you sending me so far away that I need _two_ of these?" She huffed, half amused and half intrigued by the new development. "Wait, I don't get to _pick_ where the CIA packs me off to for vacation? Tell me it's not Alaska, Auggie! I am going to wither and die if I don't get to see the sun sometime soon."

That got a snort out of him, and an unfocused look somewhere between amusement and exasperation. Apparently rather than draw it out any more, he slid one of the small blue folders along the couch, one corner of his mouth lifting up in a little grin. "That one's yours. This one's mine. I had a little time," Actually, she was pretty sure he _didn't_, not after his sabbatical in Africa, but she wasn't going to question that. "And I decided that since you like Portuguese so much, I could show you a town on the coast that I came across a while back. Great place. Nice and quiet."

Annie Walker was not an idiot: she could read between the lines easily enough. _I bullied Joan into letting me pick somewhere that doesn't have crime and I'm going with you because I'm a caveman._ It wasn't like he tried to hide it. Rather than be annoyed by the crowding, though, she eyed Aug with a little smile. Small town coastal Portugal _was_ pretty. She'd be lying like mad if she said that the thought of a few weeks on a beach didn't sound like a good idea, and add her friend, a friend who was the reason she was still among the living right now? Well, that was just a plus. Plus, she wouldn't have to wonder if he was somewhere safe, or hadn't gone off on a bender and killed somebody in the DPD, if he was with _her_. So she grinned, plucking the ticket from his hand and kicking her feet up onto the table, too.

"When do we leave?"


End file.
